Are You Ready For What's To Come?
by Blue.Rose.Marcella
Summary: Harry has been waiting to propose to Ginny for weeks. Once he does, he reaches out to his two best friends for support. However, their three year spat has driven them apart. Will a wedding and the Dark Lord's return aid in reconciliation?
1. The Proposal

**_A/N: Hey everyone, I've been home sick three days straight, randomly reading Harry Potter fics across the web. Inspiration struck me and I decided to write this. I hope you enjoy it. I'm not sure how long it will be, and I can't promise I'll get chapters out on a regular basis, but I finish what I start. Here we go.  
Disclaimer: JK Rowling, God herself, owns these marvelous characters and their marvelous personalities!  
Claimer: I own--*laughs* Oh, wait, I don't own anything!  
_**

~*~  
Title: Ready For What's To Come?  
Time Period: Ron, Harry, and Hermione graduated  
from Hogwarts three years back, and went their  
separate ways. So they're about twenty, twenty-one.  
Summary: Ginny and Harry have news to announce  
to the wizarding world...Will it bring their two best friends  
back into ties again, or simply push them further apart?  
Ginny and Harry fight to make peace between them all.  
Shipping: H/G, and R/Hr later  
~*~  
Ready For What's To Come?  
~*~  


It was a warm Spring night. The moon was full, the stars shining magnificently in the velvet-like sky, and the grown couple who was treading the grounds of the Weasley home, weaving through the moonbeams and star light, talking merrily and enjoying one another's pleasant company. The night seemed, in a matter of words, magical beyond the power of imagination. Dew had begun to settle upon the grass, gently moistening his shoes, while whole-heartedly teasing her bare feet with soft chills. The branches of the trees were swaying, as if to a heart-filled ballad that only reached the ears of the lovers standing beneath.   
His hand ventured into his pocket, caressing a mysterious item there that he dared not reveal at that moment. While this hand was busy, as was the other occupied, his fingers intertwined with hers. He could feel her soft and silky palm grazing against his own ever so gently, sending warmth through his soul and electricity up his spine.   
Finally, as they were nearing a stone bench constructed by Arthur Weasley, the man turned to the woman, and bade her to take a seat. She complied, refusing to release his hand even as she sat and he remained standing. She looked at him curiously, as if trying to probe his mind with her soft blue eyes by judgment of his countenance.   
He took notice of this immediately and with as much of his might as he could muster, strived to avoid her unspoken questioning. At last, she spoke.   
"Harry," she began with concern, "what is it? Is something wrong?"   
Her voice seemed to tinkle like a thousand gorgeous bells as he allowed her words to reach his ears and soothe his body as they always did. He smiled gently. "Nothing's wrong. In fact, it's all going quite right."   
This, if possible, affected her facial features even more with striking puzzlement at his behavior. "What is it, then?"   
"Listen, Love," he began, kneeling before her to look properly into her ocean-like eyes. "We've been together for ages, with nothing to tear us apart. We've had some sore spots along the way, yes, as every couple endures. But--Well, I suppose I'm rather bad at this sort of mushy thing--So I guess I'll be straight-forward. I love you, with everything I am." This inspired a slow, tender smile to reach her lips. His heart pounding now with nervousness and his brow becoming slightly more moist, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the delicate item, presenting it to her. At first she didn't understand, but then it seemed to dawn upon her, as she rose a tentative hand to her mouth in surprise. "Ginny Weasley--Would you marry me?"   
It was like the moon suddenly shone brighter, and the stars suddenly dazzled with more excitement. The wind blew by more gently and the trees swayed to a faster beat. But nothing struck her as more extraordinary than his emerald green eyes dancing before her, with a mixture of love, admiration, and hope. She gently caressed the hand that he lay in hers, illustrating her tender feelings towards him and smiling through the unexpectant tears that she hadn't noticed were streaking her face. At long last, following her initial shock, she nodded. "Yes. I will marry you, Harry Potter."   
The grin that came now across his face was unlike one she had ever witnessed before. It was as if everything for him finally made sense and was decorated with utter perfection, perfection even he could not manage to crack under the power of a hundred curses. He swept her into his arms and spun her around, both laughing with glee. He then set her down and they shared a kiss of love and wonder before making their way back to The Burrow.   
Upon opening the back door and piling back into the cozy home, Molly Weasley smiled at the two from behind her cooking book, while Arthur also seemed to beam over his copy of _The Daily Prophet_. Both had grown in respectable age, beginning to find traces of the expected gray hairs and witnessing each of their children's growing and leaving of their long-time home. The home that had once been filled with the endless laughing and yelling and arguing, with a tinge every now and then of Fred and George's creations exploding from the upstairs bedroom and interrupting such precious scoldings, distracting either parent from their initial punishment and allowing the victim to scurry away to a safer refuge while Fred and George were blamed once again. The children had grown so beautifully that Arthur often found Molly in tears of joy, blubbering over something in regards to 'raising them properly' and 'no longer being able to watch them grow.' It was no small feat, really, to appropriately raise seven children of various credibilities and personalities, and the job was granted, just perfectly, to these two adults whose judgments and hearts were in the right place.   
Harry could never have thanked them properly enough, despite how hard he may try. They were more like parents than his aunt and uncle had ever been, and The Burrow was more of a home than Number 4, Privet Drive. The Burrow was filled with kindness and gingerness, and the atmosphere of a loving environment. He could never find anything else to compare.   
"Oh, hello, Dears, back from your walk already? That was short," Molly gushed, softly closing the cookbook.   
"What do you mean, Molly? They were gone for nearly an hour--" Arthur was cut short when Mrs. Weasley indiscreetly set the book down--rather harshly--atop Arthur's fingers. He drew them back hastily, but nevertheless, kept his mouth shut.  
"Yes, Mum," said Ginny happily. "It's lovely outside."   
"Thank you again, Mrs. Weasley, for inviting us over for dinner," Harry added.  
"Come now, Harry, must I tell you every time you visit that you may call me Molly?"   
"Sorry, Mrs--Molly," he corrected, earning a swelling smile from Mrs. Weasley's lips.   
Harry could feel Ginny's eyes on him, as if silently pushing him to announce the news. Why she was putting such a burden on him, he wasn't sure, seeing as they were _her_ parents, and not his. He met her eyes, telling her all of this with his gaze, but she seemed to be persistent as ever.   
"Mum, Dad," she began with a grin, and then gestured to Harry, "Harry has something to tell you."   
Harry sighed and forced a smile. It hadn't occurred to him how the Weasleys might react to giving their youngest child away. But they had known and loved him for nearly half of his life, and, he concluded, should be properly ecstatic at the news. He looked upon their anxious faces with hope, silently praying that he was right in his assumptions.   
"I've asked Ginny to marry me," he announced. As if for proof, Ginny raised her right hand to indicate the glowing gem upon her ring finger. Harry was, to say, quite pleased with their reactions. Mrs. Weasley squealed happily and rushed towards them, ambushing them with hugs and kisses and crying with mirth. Mr. Weasley dropped his paper onto the table in pure joy and stood, crying out, "Well, it's about time! Congratulations to the both of you!" He rushed over to join Molly, hugging and kissing Ginny as she had, and moving towards Harry. Harry put out his hand for a shake, being what he expected, but instead, Arthur pulled him into a fatherly embrace.   
When the congratulations were over and everything back to semi-normal, the four settled into the livingroom in respective seating areas, Harry putting an arm around Ginny's slim shoulders.   
"This is so wonderful," Molly repeated once again, rambling off ideas for the wedding, summoning various books over to her lap and thumbing through them for more suggestions.   
Mr. Weasley was beaming at them proudly. "Wait until I tell the rest of the family, they'll be so excited."   
Harry cut in. "Sir, if you could not tell Ron yet...That would be nice. I'd like to tell him myself."   
Mr. Weasley nodded. "Of course, of course, understandable. When was the last time you saw him?"   
Harry thought this through. It had been a while since he'd seen Ron or Hermione. The three had gone their separate ways, still managing to keep in touch. He was well aware, however, that Ron and Hermione hadn't been on speaking terms for years. He had never quite heard the entire story of why, though. "Last time I saw him...Had to be before he went over to Egypt to assist Bill at Gringotts."  
"That was nearly three years ago," Molly explained rationally, in apparent surprise. "Does he owl you often?"  
"Yeah, nearly twice a week," Harry reassured. Molly seemed much more relieved at this news.   
"And Hermione?"  
"I haven't seen her since she began teaching Transfiguration over at Hogwarts," Harry responded, realizing that this had occurred approximately three years ago, as well.   
"Are she and Ron on speaking terms yet?" Arthur demanded, his tone indicating the ridiculousness of their spats.   
"I don't think so," said Harry with about as much defeat as Arthur had had. He and Ginny exchanged worried glances. They had already assumed that Hermione and Ron would be in the wedding party, but hadn't stopped to think about how they were getting on.   
"I'll visit Ron tomorrow," Harry vowed after extreme thought, softly squeezing Ginny's hand.  
~*~  
Harry fell to the ground, finding himself in a dark passageway lit only by torches lined in brackets down either wall of the tunnel. He straightened his glasses and recovered from this apparation, beginning to step forward towards the area he saw most light in. His path was blocked by a goblin, who had stepped in his way at the last moment. "May I help you?"   
"Er--Yes," Harry said, still a bit surprised from this goblin's hasty appearance. "I'm looking for Ronald Weasley."   
The goblin's face seemed to contort into even more distaste than it had previously shown. "What's your business with Weasley?"   
"Tell him his best friend has come to see him, it's rather urgent, but not an emergency," he added hastily as conclusion, so as not to allow the goblin to startle Ron into a panic.   
The goblin seemed to take this all into consideration, and then, at last, made a questionable gesture with his abnormally long fingers. "Follow me," he grunted, beginning to make his way towards the light, the direction Harry had been heading in. Traveling down the long passageway, Harry noted that the tunnels were very similar to the very ones he had ridden through on the cart before his first year, the tunnels that had led him to the vault he didn't know he had inherited from his parents.   
Finally, as they reached the light, Harry found himself in a bright, large, marble room, also comparatively similar to the Gringotts he was used to. He found himself questioning whether Gringotts was made up of chains of several offices across the continent, and made a mental note to ask Hermione about it later, not doubting she'd read it in one place or another. Goblins were jotting numbers and figures down, and tending to mountains of gold and silver and bronze were being sorted into appropriate bags and boxes, weighting coins, everything Harry was used to seeing. Except, this location seemed to harbor far more wizards working alongside the goblins.  
Then, he saw it. The distinguishable red Weasley hair. Not the right Weasley, though. It was unmistakably Bill, the oldest. He was wearing a scarlet and gold uniform that every creature in the room was wearing. However, Bill seemed to wear the outfit with a certain dignity, causing it to have the potential of becoming a fashion statement. Harry had always somewhat looked up to Bill, knowing from the first conversation that he was easily one of the coolest, most easy-going guys he'd ever talked to in his life. He was slaving over a large bag of gold; he then flung it into a cart and gave it a light tap. It went on its way into one of the many tunnels.  
The goblin Harry had nearly fallen over in the tunnel led him towards Bill. He curled a long, gnarled finger in Bill's direction, summoning him over. The oldest Weasley wiped his brow of sweat, and squinted his eyes, as if seeing the wizarding guest wrongly the first time. With the doubletake, he realized it was indeed Harry, and sported a grin, rushing over to greet him.   
"Hullo, Harry!" he spoke happily, grabbing his hand and shaking it vigorously. "Got Mum's owl just moments ago, she told me about you and Ginny, congratulations, mate! You're the right one for her." He then clapped a large hand on Harry's shoulder, nearly knocking the younger off his feet.   
"Er, thanks," Harry said, a bit taken off-guard by the gesture.   
"I suppose you're looking for Ron?"   
"Yeah," Harry confirmed. Bill nodded and made a hand gesture to the goblin, speaking a string of Gobbledook, and waving him off politely, causing Harry to conclude it was his formal way of requesting he fetch Ron. The goblin bowed slightly in good manners, the nastiness still present in his countenance, and he traveled off. Bill turned his attention back to Harry.  
"Mum told me in the letter all about how Ron and Hermione haven't spoken since you all went your own ways. Bloody ridiculous! You three are best friends, right? What's their problems? Ron was always stubborn, it doesn't much surprise me. I feel sorry for his future wife. He'll drive her over the edge with his tendency to stick to his ways...Blimey."   
Harry nodded and voiced his agreement. Indeed, Ron and Hermione were both stubborn as mules. Which was part of the reason he saw them in similar lights. They would be perfect for one another, but, both too headstrong and proud to admit that they both saw it clearly. It had been first made most apparent to Harry in their fourth year, when he witnessed the large deal made from Krum and Hermione's friendship. Ron had held a strong grudge against Krum for ages following. However, there were instances sooner than their age of fourteen. In their second year, Ron had become most distressed over Hermione's petrification, overcoming even his biggest fear in order to save her: the spiders in the Forbidden Forest.   
Bill was still saying something about Ron being 'an annoying but lovable little bloke,' leading Harry over to his work so that he could continue laboring while awaiting Ron's arrival. Bill gestured to Harry, as if requesting that Harry assist him in hauling bags of gold onto the next cart, which, Harry noticed, had appeared suddenly after the last had taken off. Bill hurled bag after bag into carts, while Harry tried thoroughly to so much as lift a bag. He was having a rough time sliding one of them up into the cart, sending his glasses askew, hoping for Ron's short arrival so that he could be excused from this duty. He couldn't have thought of it soon enough--Ron returned with the goblin, looking puzzled.   
He had changed some, Harry noticed. His red hair seemed much more tame, and he'd gotten a haircut, which suited him nicely, as a matter of fact. He wore the same uniform as Bill, but didn't seem to wear it as well, and it seemed to oddly clash with his hair, much more than it had on the eldest Weasley brother. Ron had also grown a small bit stockier, no doubt from the exhausting exercise of heaving mounds of gold around day after day. Harry decided, from looking at Ron's newly developed muscles, that this job may not be too bad, and he could use a bit of a workout himself. Ron had his characteristic smudges of dirt here and there across the ivory skin on his face, which wasn't unusual for him. As if reading Harry's mind, he reached up just then to wipe detected dirt from his long nose.   
"Oi! Ronald!" Bill called from their spot, waving his brother over. Ron spotted Harry, and did nearly the same thing Bill had done. He squinted in concentration, taking a moment to register, then broke into a large grin, hurrying over.   
"Harry! How you been, mate?" he asked cheerily, sharing a brotherly hug with Harry.   
"I've been grand, and yourself?" Harry replied, gesturing to Bill to excuse him from bag-hauling, silently grateful. Bill simply nodded in farewell as Ron led Harry towards a small tunnel.   
"I've been splendid," Ron responded, coming across a door in the tunnel. He opened it, and Harry realized that this was a small office. There were a few moving wizard photographs on his desk. One from Hogsmeade, sixth year. He noticed, but kept to himself, that there was an untidy tear on the side of the picture; Ron had ripped Hermione out of the photograph. The picture version of Harry kept glancing to the right, as if puzzled at not seeing Hermione there any longer. Photograph Ron looked pleased though, trying to re-divert Harry's attention back to waving at the camera and displaying their sweets from Honeydukes.   
Harry's eyes wandered around the remainder of the office, from the photographs to the paperwork, to the awards and achievements proudly framed and placed around the walls, which, Harry was pleased to see, where electric orange to match Ron's former bedroom at The Burrow. He also spotted a poster of the Chudley Cannons, Ron's favorite wizarding Quidditch team.   
He glanced at the bookshelf, which harbored few books, seeing as Ron wasn't too keen on reading. And all the books that were there were in regards to Quidditch, and one thin volume about Gringott's, probably for reference if nothing else. The rest of the bookshelf held various things, such as letters and cards. From a small perch near the back wall, Harry spotted Pigwidgeon, looking quite a bit more aged than he had been when Sirius first awarded the owl to Ron.   
"So, what can I do for you, Harry?" Ron asked, taking a seat at his desk, his position of importance and authority. Still grinning, he gestured to a chair before the desk, indicating that Harry was to take a seat. The standing man did so, clearing his throat. It was quite apparent that Ron was incredibly happy with his job. It made Harry quite pleased, really, to see Ron so proud of himself and his accomplishments. Harry knew that it was something Ron dreamed of, day after day, and that working alongside Bill was no damper. He and Bill got along marvelously, from what Harry had been told, and Bill treated him as a friend rather than a brother.   
"I thought I'd drop in," Harry began. He cleared his throat once again and continued. "You know that Ginny and I have been dating for a while now..."  
"Of course. Smashing couple, you two make," Ron confirmed, his smile growing larger with every second. He'd ripped open a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, offering Harry a handful. Harry smiled feebly, aware that he was probably turning slightly red at this compliment, accepting the sweets.   
"Thanks," he muttered. "Well, Ron, I'm happy to announce that Ginny and I are getting married."   
Ron dropped the box of Beans he'd been holding, causing them to spill and roll across the mahogany desk. Before Harry had time to react to the flood of sweets, Ron had leapt up and practically across the desk to shake Harry's hand in congratulations. "Bloody brilliant, mate! That's wonderful! How long have you been engaged?"  
"Only since last night," Harry explained. It made him quite happy to see Ron react so joyously to this news, not knowing what exactly to expect from him previously.   
"Splendid! I'm the best man, aren't I?" Ron said, as more of a statement than a question. He knew the answer, and Harry knew this.   
"Who else would I ever pick?" Harry asked rationally with a grin. Ron gave him another brief hug of congratulations, and then something seemed to dawn upon him. His smile faded slowly.  
"What?" Harry asked hastily, disappointed that Ron's excitement was wearing away. "What is it?"   
"It's only..." Ron began, glancing briefly at the ripped Hogsmeade picture. "Ginny'd be asking Hermione to be her Maid of Honor, wouldn't she?"   
Harry sighed, having been expecting this confrontation, but dreading it. "Listen, Ron..." But Ron had seen a lecture coming from far away, and sank into one of his chairs, looking sulkily at Harry. _He's hardly changed a bit_, Harry thought to himself as he witnessed this somewhat childish but distinguishable characteristic of Ron. "It's been nearly three years since you two have spoken. Isn't it about time to put an end to this childish rivalry?"   
"You don't get it, Harry," Ron said, seemingly dazed, lost in his own thoughts. "You don't get it, at all."   
"Why don't you explain it to me then?" Harry asked hopefully. Ron released a sigh of defeat.  
"All right. Here goes..."   


**_TO BE CONTINUED...  
_***~*  


**A/N: HaHa, sorry for the cliffhanger. Well, how is it looking so far? Enjoyable? Please review with your thoughts, questions, and concerns!   
What's To Come: Ron spills his guts to Harry about the Hermione situation...Ginny has a similar talk with Hermione...**


	2. Futile Attempts Of Convinced Reconciliat...

**_A/N: Hey everyone, I've been home sick three days straight, randomly reading Harry Potter fics across the web. Inspiration struck me and I decided to write this. I hope you enjoy it. I'm not sure how long it will be, and I can't promise I'll get chapters out on a regular basis, but I finish what I start. Here we go.  
Disclaimer: JK Rowling, God herself, owns these marvelous characters and their marvelous personalities!  
Claimer: I own--*laughs* Oh, wait, I don't own anything!  
_**

~*~  
Title: Ready For What's To Come?  
Time Period: Ron, Harry, and Hermione graduated  
from Hogwarts three years back, and went their  
separate ways. So they're about twenty, twenty-one.  
Summary: Ginny and Harry have news to announce  
to the wizarding world...Will it bring their two best friends  
back into ties again, or simply push them further apart?  
Ginny and Harry fight to make peace between them all.  
Shipping: H/G, and R/Hr later  
~*~  
Ready For What's To Come?  
~*~  


Ginny glided through the double doors of the entrance hall, gently allowing them to shut behind her, despite her ginger touch, however, the slam echoed throughout the castle. Entering a temperature change, in which the room seemed far more warm than the outdoors, she undid the top few clasps of her white traveling robes, making her way towards McGonagall's old office, where she could only assume Hermione would be settled.   
As she walked, she couldn't help but be distracted by various paintings along the deserted corridor walls. Class was in session at the moment, she deducted. Reassuring herself that it was okay to look around, so as not to disturb Hermione in the middle of a lesson, she privileged herself. The castle hadn't appeared to change at all in the two years since her graduation. Some of the paintings had swapped positions, no doubt due to Peeves' playful and mischievous nature. Several things constantly had to be relocated because of Peeves' carelessness.   
Ginny stopped at a painting she had never noticed before. It was a portrait of a man with untidy black hair and brown eyes, and another of a woman with red hair and eyes of emerald. In her arms she nursed a newborn. It took Ginny only moments to register, but it occurred to her--The picture was of Lily and James Potter.   
Supressing her surprise that she hadn't ever noticed this painting anywhere before, she led herself to assume that it had been placed in a restricted area. Perhaps the third floor corridor. Yes, that seemed logical. The woman looked on with sadness as the people in the picture moved slightly, the couple beaming at one another and their infant. Almost feeling the tears building in her eyes, she raised her fingers to gingerly wipe the brow of a baby Harry.  
"Excuse me, may I help you?"   
Ginny jumped in surprise, startled from her reverie, and turned around abruptly. She gave a sigh of relief when she gazed at her onlooker. She took in his features to register his identity, taking all of what seemed like five minutes but was really only an instant. The graying brown hair and the medium build, the tattered robes, and the boyish smile gave him away.  
"Professor Lupin," she breathed, feeling her heartrate return to normal. "You frightened me at first."   
"To avoid fright, maybe one should not roam the castle alone," Remus offered. "After all, you should know from your seven years here that these walls are filled with surprises galore." Again, she took note of his unmoving smile.   
Remus Lupin hadn't always been this carefree. It wasn't until his best friend was released from conviction, proven innocent only by eye-witness Arthur Weasley and supporter Albus Dumbledore themselves. Ever since Sirius had become a free man, Remus' smile always seemed a bit brighter, knowing that at least one of his friends was still by his side, and would remain loyal until he died. The two now shared a small house in the Hogsmeade village, where they were free and open to reminisce as they pleased.   
"Have you heard yet?" Ginny asked, nearly forgetting that Lupin and Harry were quite close. Remus nodded in reply.   
"Harry owled me and Sirius earlier this morning. Bless his heart. I thought Sirius was going to bust with joy. He read the letter and began bouncing out of control. Said something about seeing his best friend's son growing up and becoming a man, that sort of mushy pish posh." His countenance betrayed his ridiculing words, however, as Ginny saw that he was positively beaming.   
"You'll be sure to be there, right?" Ginny questioned hastily. He nodded.  
"We wouldn't miss it for the world. Now, dare I ask, what the future Mrs. Potter is doing roaming Hogwarts this time of year?"   
Ginny had nearly forgotten her objective, and shook her head, as if to regain her composure and train of thought. "Oh, right. I was looking for Hermione. Need to have a bit of a chat with her about this wedding."  
"Ah, her and Ron?" Lupin inquired. Ginny nodded, her face brimming with exasperation. "Yes, she has a class in session right now, but I'd be happy to escort you."   
With that, he began to lead her in the opposite direction. Amidst their smalltalk, Ginny still managed to steal glances at the pictures on either sides of them that she'd never noticed before. Finally, as they were rounding the corner and heading up the familiar staircase, she recognized her way and knew that the transfiguration classroom was nearby.   
"There you are," Lupin finished, presenting the door to her. She smiled.  
"Thank you, Profess--"  
"You may call me Remus, Ginny," Lupin offered, his expression still soft with joy.   
She hesitated, unfamiliar with addressing him in this nature, but smiled. "Remus. It was a pleasure seeing you again. I can't wait until you and Sirius can both see Harry at the wedding."  
"We'll be there, front row, weeping like great gits," Remus replied with a wink and a chortle. And then, they went their separate ways.   
Ginny, scolding herself and deciding to finally focus on what she had came here for, heard Hermione's voice from within, speaking, consequently, about Animagi. She rose a fist and tapped it on the door. Hermione's voice faltered upon hearing a guest. Swift footsteps were heard and the door opened, revealing a slightly-changed Hermione. Her bushy hair that had always been her trademark was pulled back into an elegant bun, slightly reminiscent of Professor McGonagall's hair habits. Her maroon robes were worn nicely by her body, which, Ginny noticed easily, had become more womanly, Ginny being a woman herself and recognizing such changes. Her caramel eyes were still ablaze with amazement at the idea of books and studying, and even more so sparkling with the notion of _teaching_!   
Hermione took a moment to recognize Ginny, but once she did, her jaw dropped. Ginny grinned and pulled her friend into a hug.   
"Virginia Weasley! It's been so long!" Hermione cried excitedly, her attitude more like that of her teenage self than a grown adult witch teaching Transfiguration. Over her shoulder, Ginny noticed that the students in the class looked puzzled and bewildered, even all-out shocked, at this reaction. Ginny figured it must have been like seeing Professor McGonagall break into song in a serenade of Christmas Carols. Professors just weren't known to act like this.   
Ginny stifled a giggle and gestured to Hermione's class. She turned back to them, realizing that they were there. "I need to talk to you, it's important," Ginny said softly. Hermione, seemingly torn between childhood and authority, finally making a shocking decision.  
"I will never do this again, but, I have urgent business to attend to. Class dismissed." The kids jumped up excitedly, shocked, but anxious to escape before she changed her mind. "But, don't think this means you're off the hook. Since class is out early, I want you to give me a three-foot parchment tomorrow on Unregistered Animagi." The class groaned, their spirits slightly more downcast, as they shuffled out of the room, mumbling things Ginny could only recall Ron saying on a daily basis; things that often made Hermione gasp in horror and exclaim, "_Ron_!" reproachfully.   
"So, now that my class is gone," Hermione began sullenly, but not enough to damper her excitement at seeing an old friend, "what's so important?" She gestured to Ginny, indicating that she follow her into the classroom. The room, Ginny noticed, hadn't changed a bit. Hermione kept mostly to McGonagall's transfiguration pictures and posters.  
Ginny smiled and outstretched her hand, so that the ring was only dangling underneath Hermione's nose. She didn't catch on at first, glancing at it and shrugging. "Nice ring. Family heirloom?" Ginny sighed and began indiscreetly humming the wedding march. "Got it at a wedding?" Hermione asked.   
"Golly, Hermione, for such a smart witch, sometimes you can be daft!" Ginny joked. Hermione puffed up indignantly, about to defend herself, when it seemingly dawned upon her.   
"Hold it...That's an--that's an engagement ring!" she gasped. "Don't tell me...You and Harry?--"  
"Yes, the very same me and Harry," Ginny said in amusement, enjoying the look on Hermione's face. "He just proposed last night. I was going to owl you, but I wanted to tell you in person and ask you to be my maid of honor."   
Hermione seemed to positively glow with pride. "Why, of course, I'd love to!"   
"Great! Now after Harry talks to Ronald, we can all--"  
"Wait, hold on," Hermione cut in, her excitement ebbing away significantly. Ginny paused. Hermione was looking at her as if she had just said a dirty word. Which, she supposed, she had, in Hermione's eyes. "You said the 'R' word," Hermione deadpanned.   
"Yeah, so?"   
"No. I haven't spoken to--_Him_--in three years. And I don't plan on doing so any time soon. I don't care how many galleons you pay me to do it."   
"Hermione," Ginny whined in a pleading tone, following Hermione as she retreated to her office. "C'mon, don't be a baby, this is my wedding. You can't expect me to have you there and not my brother."   
Hermione began tidying things up, something that helped her distract herself. Her eyes flashed uncertainly, then looked at Ginny. "Then...Have your brother there. But I can't come."   
"What on Earth are you going on about?" Ginny demanded. "That's not fair! I want you both there!"   
"I don't want to see his ugly, smug, freckle-covered face ever again," Hermione insisted. She had now moved on from tidying to flipping through her Transfiguration lesson plan, which, Ginny noticed, was elaborately color-coded and organized.   
"What _happened_ between you two?" Ginny demanded. "The least you can do is offer me some sort of explanation for why you _insist_ on making this so very difficult for me!"   
Hermione sighed. "I'm not sure where I would start."  
"How about the beginning?" Ginny offered. Hermione gazed out the window of her office, watching the Hufflepuff Quidditch training happening on the grounds.   
"I suppose then, it all started in seventh year," Hermione began. "Actually...No, it really started in first year. It was when Ron sacrificed himself in that chess game that I really began to lov--" An expectant look on Ginny's face caused Hermione to regain herself, clear her throat, and change her sentence. "I began to _admire_ him, as a _friend_. Anyhow, after that, I suppose we were closer, but I always seemed to be in the way when he and Harry were together. They were best friends. I felt like the tag-along, and--"  
"Where is this going, Hermione?" Ginny asked impatiently, eager to know the jist.   
Hermione sighed in defeat. She wasn't used to ever cutting a story short. But she supposed it would be best for her to do so on this occasion. "Then, I guess, it started the night before graduation. McGonagall called me into her office. She told me I'd scored so high on the N.E.W.T.s and on my Transfiguration exam, that she reckoned I was fit to teach the class as she was taking over for Studies Of Ancient Runes the next year! She said I would start my training the following week if I was interested. So I headed down to the Great Hall to tell Harry and--_Him_ my good news..."   
~*~  
"...And then she came down for supper and I jumped up with my letter from Bill. I was gonna ask her to attend the job acceptance banquet the following week with me. But before I could tell her, she jumped in, going on something crazy about teaching Transfiguration. I interrupted her and handed her my letter, and I was about to ask her, when she said, 'Good job, Ron. I'm proud.' Then went on to talk about her training and how--excuse the shudder--_Krum_ would be co-teaching with Madam Hooch on flying and Quidditch the next year, and how she was excited about seeing him.  
"You can imagine, it hurt something awful to hear her belittle my accomplishment, and reject to accompany me to an important banquet, and then have the audacity to begin rambling about Viktor Krum to me, as if I were immune to her treatment! Can you believe it?"  
"And that was when you accused her of becoming a ruddy old spinster?" Harry questioned. Ron winced but nevertheless stuck up for himself.   
"I had the right! She was seventeen and going into the teaching business. Like it was more important than me. Than you, too," he added hastily, turning slightly red. "Like life after Hogwarts left no connections with her best friends. Like she _used_ us because we were the only ones stupid enough to befriend her! Ruddy moronic of us. If we had seen through that cover..."  
Harry couldn't help but look at Ron with a strange knot in his stomach. Ron was talking crazy. It was like Snape confessing his love for butterflies and daisies and the Slytherins readily agreeing. It just didn't add up--much less make sense.  
"Ron, have you ever asked her about it?" Harry asked, trying to refrain from giving the bloke a few swift kicks to the knees and telling him how stupid he was being in grasping for pathetic excuses.  
"No, and I don't plan on ever speaking to her again. She can go teach Transfiguration and buddy up to Viktor Krum. I don't care. I don't care if she ever looks at me again. I hope Malfoy curses her."   
~*~  
"And I wouldn't care if he belched slugs for the rest of his life," Hermione concluded, her breathing heavy and her face set to some mix between anger and grief. She looked out the window again, and Ginny noticed this time that Krum was helpful in instructing the Hufflepuffs.   
"But then you called him a juvenile headstrong prat," Ginny quipped.   
"Only after he called me a ruddy spinster," Hermione defended.   
Ginny sighed. "So. _Did_ anything happen between you and Krum?"   
"Of course not. I only brought him up because I was excited that I had a friend who was also just starting out with the teaching business. I knew I wouldn't have to go on alone, I'd have Viktor to keep me company, at the same pace as me."   
"Why are you two so bloody dense?" Ginny demanded with a sigh, setting down the tea Hermione had conjured up for her. "You two were meant to be, this was some ridiculous, forgivable spat. Okay, that's settled, now let's go meet with Ron and Harry."   
"Harry's with that great git as we speak?" Hermione demanded in disbelief.   
"Fine, if that's how you're going to be about it," Ginny trailed off, standing. Hermione sighed.   
"I'll only come to the wedding if you uninvite your brother."   
"Say his bloody name!" Ginny pleaded impatiently.   
"Never again," Hermione resolved, looking out the window distantly.   
"Fine," Ginny sighed. "Owl me when you've grown up." With that, she gathered her white robes and marched out of the office and down the stairs. Uncharacteristically of Ginny, she was fuming. It was rather selfish, she thought, of Hermione and Ron to be so childish with her and Harry's special day slowly approaching. It wasn't fair for them to put she and Harry into such positions.   
Ginny made her way back into Hogsmeade, realizing that she and Harry weren't due to meet up for another hour. So instead, she decided to bide her time by rummaging through some of the old stores she hadn't visited in ages.   
She perused Honeydukes, Zonko's, and a local Quidditch store, exiting with large bags of purchases. Ever since she had become a reporter for The Prophet, she'd made more money than she was used to having. It seemed so easy to go through and spend loads of it. After carefully selecting presents for Harry and treating herself to some of her own prizes, she then took a load off her feet by settling into Three Broomsticks, greeting Madam Rosmerta warmly and requesting a butterbeer.   
"Oi, Ginny!"   
She looked up and saw two familiar freckled faces with mops of red hair. They hurried over and settled into her booth across from her. "Nice bit of buyings you've got there, isn't it?" Fred inquired.   
"Got the owl this morning," George chimed with a grin. "Congratulations. Always saw it coming."  
"Did not! It was always me," Fred insisted. "You always called me ridiculous when I suggested it! Remember?"  
"Dear Brother, it's quite sad when even _you_ get us confused. Yes, two butterbeers," he added as Madam Rosmerta asked them for their orders. She handed Ginny's to her, which she took willingly. A few sips and the warmth was restored to her body, having been rare in the chilly spring weather outside.   
"So, what are you two doing in the middle of Hogsmeade?" Ginny questioned, sipping away and sorting her purchases properly.   
"We could ask you the same thing."  
"That's easy: I was visiting Hermione at the castle. But she's being near impossible to talk to." Ginny sighed. "So, it's your turn."  
"We were at Zonko's," Fred responded, raising a large bag. "Percy's visiting our joint house this weekend. Ministry business. Feels obligated to talk to my wife Angelina about the business of hers and Alicia's coffee shop. Thought we'd give him a few surprises if he got a little too--how do we say...Percy-ish."   
"Wonderful vocabulary," Ginny retorted, but nevertheless allowed herself to smile. Fred and George always managed to cheer her up. She finished up her butterbeer and glanced at her watch, realizing how late it really was. "Oi, I've got to get going." She stood, gathering her bags. "It was nice seeing you two."   
George and Fred helped her to get her bags together. "Aww, what can we say. We know that we are, after all, your _favorite_ brothers." With that, both grinned.   
Ginny grinned. "Modest, too."   
~*~  
Harry glanced at his watch, drumming his fingers on the tabletop impatiently. Ginny was due back at any moment to meet him at the Leaky Cauldron, but so far, was running significantly late.   
"I suppose it's good that I have a break off," Ron was saying as he sipped his soup. "I think some time back at The Burrow will get a load off my mind, ya know?"   
"Yeah, yeah." Harry muttered distractedly. Finally, he saw a flash of red hair outside the door, and Ginny hurried in, looking slightly winded, carrying an armfull of bags.  
"Oi, what's this? Bought out these stores?" Harry questioned, helping to take a load off her. Ron pitched in. Once the bags were cleared from in front of her face, she spotted her brother. He grinned.  
"Hey, Gin. How's it going?"   
In surprise, she dropped her remaining bags and boxes and engulfed him in a hug, temporarily forgetting her sore attitude towards him and Hermione. "Ron! Fancy seeing you here! How are you doing? Have you spoken with Harry about the wedding?"  
"Yes," Harry piped in, sending Ginny a warning look that she didn't quite comprehend. She glanced at Ron. He nodded.  
"Yeah, Harry says that Hermione already owled you both, that she can't make it to the wedding."   
Ginny nearly stopped breathing in shock. "He _what_? Hermione _what_?" She glared at Harry.  
"Oh, um, Ron, excuse us. I need to talk to Ginny urgently about some--er...Wedding business." Ron nodded, as Harry quickly pulled his wife over to the side.   
"What is the meaning of this, Harry Potter?" Ginny demanded. "Hermione is most definitely coming!"  
"I know, I know," Harry said gently, trying to calm her down. "Let me explain."  
Ginny crossed her arms expectantly. "All right...Ten seconds...Go."   
"I told Ron that Hermione wasn't coming. I figured that if we tell them both that the other isn't coming, they'll meet each other at the wedding rehearsal and then be forced to go to the dinner with us afterwards, and forced to talk." Harry said all of this very fast.   
Ginny's mouth dropped open. "Harry Potter, how do you expect to pull that off? The night of the Wedding Rehearsal? That's such little time left before the wedding!"   
"Look, it's Plan B. Plan A is to get them both back at the Burrow. Ron's already resolved to stay there for a while. Hermione can come over next week for Easter break."   
"I don't understand," Ginny sputtered impatiently.  
"If they're staying in the same place...They've got to be forced to talk...C'mon, Gin, think about it."   
Ginny ran this all through her head, turning it over and over. On the one hand...they were furious with one another. But on the other hand...Harry had a point. It seemed downright logical. Ron and Hermione were both great at quarreling, but when forced to be in the same place, always seemed to reconcile. Finally, the options were weighed in Harry's favor. She grinned mischievously. "Full speed ahead, then."   


**_TO BE CONTINUED...  
_***~*  


**A/N: Please review with your thoughts, questions, and concerns!   
What's To Come: Hermione has a heart-to-heart with Lupin, while Ron and Ginny spend some brother-sister quality time together and she tries to convince him that Hermione and him are meant to be...**


	3. Heart To Hearts

**_A/N: Hey everyone, I've been home sick three days straight, randomly reading Harry Potter fics across the web. Inspiration struck me and I decided to write this. I hope you enjoy it. I'm not sure how long it will be, and I can't promise I'll get chapters out on a regular basis, but I finish what I start. Here we go.  
Disclaimer: JK Rowling, God herself, owns these marvelous characters and their marvelous personalities! For this chapter, I got the bit about the Snidget from page 39 (U.S. version) of the Comic Relief book, _Magical Creatures And Where To Find Them, _by Scholastic associated with JK Rowling.   
Claimer: I own--*laughs* Oh, wait, I don't own anything!  
_**

~*~  
Title: Ready For What's To Come?  
Time Period: Ron, Harry, and Hermione graduated  
from Hogwarts three years back, and went their  
separate ways. So they're about twenty, twenty-one.  
Summary: Ginny and Harry have news to announce  
to the wizarding world...Will it bring their two best friends  
back into ties again, or simply push them further apart?  
Ginny and Harry fight to make peace between them all.  
Shipping: H/G, and R/Hr later  
~*~  
Ready For What's To Come?  
~*~  


Hermione was, needless to say, shaken up by the turn of events that had happened only a few hours prior. Even her young students noticed a change; when she attempted to transfigure her porcupine into a pincushion, it still seemed to have feet carrying it around her desk. She was terribly distracted by thoughts of Ron and reliving her past. Perhaps Ginny was right; Hermione thought. She did have feelings for Ron, but that was long ago, in her naive childhood days. She was matured now, and no such feelings were present. In fact, she was still incredibly sore towards him, and wouldn't mind at all if he disappeared off the face of the earth. Her loathing for him was strong and powerful, and clouded her right mind.   
And, being Hermione and notoriously proud and stubborn, she had a struggle admitting to herself that she and Ron had once been best friends. She insisted on reflecting on all the flaws of their friendship, rather than to remember the memorable moments. Times that he defended her to Snape, costing him detentions and points from Gryffindor; and from Malfoy, risking his dignity.   
Now really, any boy who would be willing to spew slugs for hours on end for a friend would appear sincerely appealing. But nothing was so worth admitting to Hermione. She was stuck in her ways that Ron was a heartless, brainless, selfish git and that's all there was to it. While she was well aware that those weren't her thoughts years ago, she had tried with all her might to convince herself that their friendship was a lie. She didn't dare think about it or the times that they shared. That caused only grief. And in Hermione's eyes, she had to think of things the logical way. This was as logical as she could muster: ignoring the situation and past entirely.   
"Professor Granger," piped up a Gryffindor second year named Sally. "Somebody's at the door for you."  
Shaken out of her state, Hermione turned towards the entrance. Sure enough, there was another soft knock. "One moment," she called. As she struggled whole-heartedly to hold her pincushion stationary, she heard the sound of the bell. The final class of the day was finished. She dismissed the second years, watching in silent gratitude as they hustled and bustled anxiously to escape education and prance off to dinner.   
Once the last student had left, Hermione called to her guest to come in. Her pincushion scuttled off the desk and she dove after it, nearly hitting her head on the wood. She reached her hand under the desk, scaring it only into running for the nearest exit.   
"Honestly!" she sputtered, lunging after it in hopes to get hold of the bugger. This resulted only in a head-on collision with a filing cabinet. She let loose a very rare curse, finally remembering she had her wand on the desk. Fetching it, she murmured, "_Accio pincushion_!" It sailed into her hands, fidgeting mercilessly. Shoving it back into its cage under the desk, Hermione silently thanked Merlin that nobody had witnessed that scene. Righting herself, she found this thanks to be in vain. Standing before her was Remus Lupin, looking on with amusement.   
"Pesky pincushions giving you grief again, Hermione?"   
"Merely a mis-transfiguration a student made," Hermione lied, feeling the blush rising in her cheeks. "Tried to catch it before it got out of my sight and popped up in somebody's nightly pumpkin juice."   
"How considerate of you," Remus said generously, pretending as though he had no idea she was the culprit for the misshapen rodent. She nodded uncomfortably, as if to show that she was exceedingly grateful that she was finished with explanations, and began to gather the cages of half-changed porcupines, beginning to transfigure them back into their original state.   
Remus took it upon himself to help her, starting at the back of the room and changing the items back into the creatures, or simply reciting spells that would replace lost eyes or feet on the poorly transfigured animals. Once they had finished, in complete silence, Hermione tried to busy herself with double and triple checking to be sure all the animals were in their appropriate state. Remus could easily tell that she was avoiding conversation, almost as if she was aware of what he'd come to talk about. So instead, he took the liberty of speaking without her consent.   
"Have you heard the news of the engagement?" he asked nonchalantly, helping her to check the porcupines and confirm that they were in proper order. She paused, but nevertheless, nodded in confirmation.   
"Briefly," she stated simply, murmuring, "_Wingardium leviosa_" towards the animals and levitating them through the door. Remus followed, finding this conversation to be more difficult than he'd originally anticipated.   
"Did you not talk to Ginny Weasley? I bumped into her earlier, she said she was looking for you," he continued as he trailed Hermione and the cages down the corridor, wondering to himself what on earth she was doing and where she was going.   
"Briefly," Hermione repeated. Remus cleared his throat, taking a new, less subtle approach.   
"Are you attending?" he questioned. This instigated a pause from the younger professor as they passed Gryffindor's entrance.   
"How are you, my dear?" asked the portrait of the Fat Lady in Remus' direction.   
He bowed his head slightly in good manners and offered a polite grin. "I'm marvelous, thank you for asking." The Fat Lady blushed slightly and giggled.   
"Excuse me, what are you three doing away from the Great Hall?" Hermione demanded in the direction of three fourth-year Gryffindor students who looked particularly guilty. As Hermione stopped to question the children, the cages continued to hover around her, bumping into one another and causing a series of porcupine squeaks.   
"Well, Professor," began the boy with freckles hastily.  
"We wanted to finish up some homework," finished the boy with glasses.   
"Yes, we were just headed to study," added the perm-haired girl, wringing her hands together nervously.   
"Homework? During supper? On a _Friday_?" Hermione pressed, raising an incredulous eyebrow.   
Remus didn't bother to keep his smile to himself as he watched the three children fidget uncomfortably at her inquiry. "Well, carry on then," he said to them with a wink, gesturing to them to hurry away before Hermione registered that he'd let them off the hook. Sure enough, once she had, they were safely behind through the portrait hole, and she turned to Remus, sputtering lightly.  
"Professor Lupin--Out of turn--You had absolutely no right--" she stammered.  
"Oh, yes I did," he answered calmly. "You can't fault them. They strangely remind me of three Gryffindors I once knew, not long ago...One of whom I'm speaking to at this very moment, who happens to be resisting conversation." Hermione blushed once again.   
"I haven't a clue what you're talking about, Professor Lupin," she insisted.   
"Hermione, this has gone far enough. Don't you think you're being a bit ridiculous about this whole Ron situation? Honestly, you've known each other for ten years, and been best friends for as long. You can't act as though none of that happened."   
"And why not?" she demanded.   
"You can't erase the past," Remus explained. "Believe me, I've tried." Hermione turned to look at him, searching his face and probing his eyes, attempting to jump into his thoughts. His face seemed distinctly pale and the corridor cast familiar shadows across his cheekbones.   
"Has Snape given you a wolfsbane potion yet this month?" Hermione said in a hushed tone, continuing to walk towards the exit, the cages following suit.   
"He's due to give one to me this evening," Remus stated. Soon enough, they were on the grounds, and heading towards the edge of the forest. They passed Hagrid, who was heading to dinner himself, and said their hellos, keeping their pace. Finally, Hermione bent low at the base of the trees, allowing the cages to land, and began to release the porcupines into the wild. Remus kneeled next to her and helped to open cages with a flick of his wand.   
"So what makes you afraid to confront Ron?" Remus asked once again, hoping for some sort of straight-forward answer. He looked at Hermione with understanding, hoping that it was enough to allow her to open up. Finally, she sighed.   
"I'm not sure. I think I'm afraid of this quarrel growing more vicious, is all. I know that it would. And I'm not ready to talk about it yet."   
"Not ready to lose an argument?" Lupin interjected. Hermione looked at him, her mouth open slightly in indignation. He expected her to condone him for suggesting that squabbling was her main concern. Instead, she sputtered, 'I most certainly would _not lose_!,' and began to blush significantly in her outburst, turning her face away and continuing to open cases.   
"It's all right to lose an argument now and then, Hermione. Even more so all right to avoid arguing altogether. Sometimes one has to risk their pride to keep the peace. But the outcome is worth the sacrifice."   
Hermione gazed at Remus and then found the scampering porcupines suddenly quite interesting as she averted her eyes. For once, Hermione Granger was struck speechless.   
~*~  
The reunion back at The Burrow was a long and lovable one. Mrs. Weasley had squealed happily upon seeing Ron walk into the house and had thrown herself at him, covering him in hugs and kisses and attempting to wipe smudges from his face, like any proper mother did. Harry and Ginny had already gathered their things in the idea of staying at the house until after the wedding, which was only two months away. A fast and hasty wedding was nothing when Mrs. Weasley was on the committee, working like a House Elf to arrange it all before Ginny's very spellbound eyes. However, Ginny didn't do much complaining. She needed all the help she could possibly get. Planning a wedding wasn't an easy task.   
Harry and the family, minus Mr. Weasley due to late work hours, sat down to dinner that night, which consisted of a delectable beef stew, warm and crispy croissants, and chilled pumpkin juice. It was a delightful evening, despite the fact that every time Molly asked Ginny to pass the butter or a napkin, she burst into tears of joy at the sight of the band around Ginny's finger that symbolized her betrothal. In addition to this, she'd blubber something about her youngest baby being all grown up, leaving Ron to comfort his mother awkwardly, passing her a tissue now and then that she noisily blew her nose into. Harry and Ginny would then exchange meaningful glances and secretly clasp hands beneath the table, intertwining their fingers and silently praying thanks for one another and for the rest of the Weasleys.   
Harry often found it hard to not refer to Molly and Arthur as his parents, or the family in whole as being his own. They were the most loving, compassionate group he'd ever met, and felt privileged to be considered a part of them. He couldn't help but beam at the fact that soon it would be official, and he would have brothers and parents in law. Looking across the table at Ron, who was gazing into his reflection in the butter dish to flatten his hair and wipe the dirt from his face, Harry grinned. This concerned friend of his would soon be his brother by law. Although, Harry thought, the law needn't legalize anything in this case: Ron had always been like a brother to Harry, and this marriage would merely finalize it and make it official.   
As a follow-up to the marvelous dinner, the family settled in the livingroom, going over wedding plans and searching Mrs. Weasley's books for information. As she was deeply involved in "_So You're Gonna Be The Witch Wife Of A Wizard_", she merrily began jotting down ideas of all sorts and seemed readily disappointed when Ginny insisted that she didn't agree with her mother's suggestion of having her wedding robes striped pink and purple. Ron went on to joke that she should wear transparent ones, causing Mrs. Weasley to gasp, Ginny to blush scarlet, and Harry to busy himself with wiping his glasses clean pretending as though he didn't hear.  
While they were making a guest list, Mr. Weasley turned up and joined in the committee, thinking of all his brothers and sisters and great uncles and aunts and distant cousins, resulting in Ginny calculating nearly a thousand and nine guests and concluding that was far to great a number. As Molly was fighting to find any expendable members, she read past Hermione's name. Ginny hastily, stuttering from the look of disgust on Ron's face, insisted that Hermione would be unable to make it, and vowed to herself silently to fill her mother in later. After Mrs. Weasley's speech of disappointment, Ginny sent Harry a look that said, 'that was a close one!' He nodded in agreement.  
After an evening of reuniting and celebrating, the group tired and decided to retire to their corresponding rooms. Ron said, however, he had some paperwork to finish up while the light of the fire was still burning, and said he'd be to bed later. The Weasley parents retreated to their bedroom, while Harry and Ginny remained in the hallway, saying their goodnights.   
Ginny raised on her tiptoes to kiss her future husband, and they parted with euphoric smiles on their faces. "I'm going to try to talk some sense into Ron," she decided, glancing into the livingroom and watching the firelight play across his face which was contorted with concentration. Harry nodded and wished her luck, giving her one last kiss, and walking into Ron's bedroom. Mrs. Weasley had conjured up another mattress for him to relax upon. Once he had climbed into bed, sleep hit him almost instantaneously, giving him no time for idle pre-sleep thoughts.   
Ginny retraced her steps back into the room where Ron slaved over work, seemingly distracted. She sighed and approached him, taking a seat on the couch to his right. He glanced at her once her presence occurred to him, and gave a feeble smile. "Hey, Gin. Did you need something?"  
"You're on holiday," Ginny insisted, stepping over to her brother and delicately beginning to lift the parchment away from him. He got hold of it from her easily, looking smug until she muttered, "_Accio parchment_," and it went sailing into her hands. She tucked them safely in her robes. "Honestly, Ron," she began. "I've never seen you so concerned with work before."  
"Well, this is important," he argued, looking rather unsure of himself. Ginny knew better. He'd taken a leaf out of Hermione's book after being friends with her for long enough, and had adopted the habit of working like mad in order to keep himself busy from meddling thoughts.   
"Ron, I think you should shape things up with Hermione," she stated bluntly, causing him to look at her as though she'd grown an extra set of eyes. Before he could open his mouth to protest, she insisted, "You know you two are meant to be. Why not just let things be?"   
This, if anything, inspired the reaction she least expected. Ron stood up straight, looking deeply offended, and cried, "_Hermione and me, meant to be_?! Are you off your rocker, Gin? Even I think I deserve better than that!"  
"So now you're superior to her?" Ginny questioned.  
"No! I mean, yes! I'd just as soon date her as I'd date--as I'd date--_Snape_!" Ginny curled her lip in horror at this statement, and his cheeks flushed as he tried to compensate. "And--you know how much I hate Snape! So I hate Hermione just as much!"   
"You two will never grow up, will you?" Ginny demanded. In defeat, she sighed, and stood. "So I guess Hermione's still out of the question for the guest list?"  
"Absolutely!" he spat, as if he had a bug in his mouth through the whole conversation that he had finally gotten rid of. He held his hand out. "Now give me my parchment." Ginny looked him in the eye, and after a staring contest that lasted for nearly a minute, she forfeited and handed him his work, retreating back to her room. Only when she looked behind her at Ron's back did she realize how severe the situation really was.   
~*~  
Hermione settled at the staff table in the Great Hall, between McGonagall and Hagrid, who was downing his pumpkin juice and telling a joke to Poppy Pomfrey about a goblin and a troll who walked into a bar. Hermione couldn't help but giggle a little bit at Hagrid's antics. She reached across her plate to take her own goblet, noticing that when she went to strive to make contact with it, it hovered out of her way repeatedly. Puzzled by this, she glanced down the table at Remus, who looked back innocently, grinning. She rolled her eyes and found that her goblet had righted itself. She took it and proceeded to sip at her juice.   
Ridiculous, really. Lupin was doing all in his power to convince Hermione of his point of view. Since Hermione had begun teaching at Hogwarts, she and Lupin and become wonderful friends. And his advice was precious to her and greatly appreciated. And his kind thoughts regarding her and Ron's situation seemed to be more logical than Ginny's had. His words did make a bit of sense. She never would admit this to him, of course. She knew that he wouldn't gloat, but it was a matter of pride and nursed grudges. He was almost like a big brother figure, in a way. The way that Harry and most of the Weasley boys were. She admired him greatly.   
So she found herself becoming half-consciously immersed in a conversation with Hagrid about his latest creature. It was an animal named the snidget that Hermione recalled reading about in _Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them_. Hagrid went on to describe how the rare species had once been used to substitute for the Golden Snitch in games of Quidditch.   
"They're quite rare, I've read, Hagrid. How did you manage to get some?" Hermione stated curiously.  
"Ah, I know a feller who works in one 'o the sanctuaries. Nice bloke by the name 'o Basslebee. Lent 'em ter me fer the week. Fourteen knuts charge. Generous lot."   
And soon enough, the four house tables retreated from the hall, leaving the staff to go to their own quarters or mingle about as pleased. Hermione opted to return to her dormitory, where she could catch up on much-needed rest and search her thoughts regarding her anger with Ron.   
Coming into her classroom, however, she found an owl hovering outside the window with a letter for her. Recognizing this owl as Errol, the Weasley's, she found herself asking how on earth he was still alive, and rushed over and allowed him in. He dropped the letter onto the desk and collapsed. Sighing, she left him there to recuperate, and opened the parchment. She recognized the writing right away to be Ginny's.   
_Hermione,  
I understand that you don't want Ron at the wedding. I respect that. He owled us and told us it'd be near impossible for him to make it, anyway. Unfortunate luck, but only for some, I suppose.   
I've talked to Mum and Dad and we decided as a family to have everyone come back home until after the wedding. I understand it may be hard to get away when you're teaching classes, but perhaps someone could fill in? They've got people to do that, haven't they? Even Sirius could cover for you. Harry says he's a master at Transfiguration.   
I can see that appalled look on your face right now. Get rid of it, because you're in desperate need of a break and you know The Burrow is just the place to spend it. If you don't turn up, we'll be out there to gather you anyway. Dumbledore's already consented. We'll be awaiting your letter back letting us know when you'll be arriving.   
Love,   
Ginny_  
Hermione perused the letter a few more times until she nearly had it memorized. Ginny made sense in retrospect of Hermione's rare breaks. She supposed she _did_ sort of need one. In any other case, she would have owled Ginny back and insisted that things were much too busy around the castle for her to take leave. However, if Dumbledore had consented for them to take her anyway if she resisted...Going the easy way might as well be the better choice. Sighing in defeat, she owled back the Weasleys with a short but simple message: _When would you like me to be there?_   


**_TO BE CONTINUED...  
_***~*  


**A/N: Please review with your thoughts, questions, and concerns!   
What's To Come: Hermione packs her stuff and heads for The Burrow...Trouble ensues...**


	4. Messy Arrivals

**_A/N: Sorry guys, I suppose the beginning to this fic has been downright boring. I had to lead up to everything though, it's a terrible habit of mine. Hopefully this chapter is full of more comedy and suspension. I hope you like it. It's short, though.  
~  
Disclaimer: JK Rowling, God herself, owns these marvelous characters and their marvelous personalities!   
Claimer: I own--*laughs* Oh, wait, I don't own anything!  
_**

~*~  
Title: Ready For What's To Come?  
Time Period: Ron, Harry, and Hermione graduated  
from Hogwarts three years back, and went their  
separate ways. So they're about twenty, twenty-one.  
Summary: Ginny and Harry have news to announce  
to the wizarding world...Will it bring their two best friends  
back into ties again, or simply push them further apart?  
Ginny and Harry fight to make peace between them all.  
Shipping: H/G, and R/Hr later  
~*~  
Ready For What's To Come?  
~*~  


Despite the owl Hermione had sent back to the Weasleys, she decided to take it upon herself to just arrive on her own time. She was rather excited to see Harry and the Weasleys again. That day she began setting her things to pack, having already spoken to Dumbledore in regard to her leave. He merely smiled, let his eye twinkle as it always did, and bade her to go on her way. Hermione felt somewhat nervous, feeling as though he was up to something once again.   
  
Just as she flicked her wand to close her suitcase, there was a knock on her door once again. She called permission to enter, gathering her stuff into one big pile before the fireplace.   
  
"Leaving us so soon?" came Remus' voice, as he trudged into the room and goggled at all of her baggage.   
  
"I feel it necessary," Hermione stated with a polite smile, beginning to search for her Floo powder. "I'm anxious to see my friends again."   
  
"I'm hurt, Hermione," Lupin joked, clutching at his chest as though she'd just fired an arrow through his heart.   
  
"Is Sirius arriving soon?" Hermione questioned, gesturing to her lesson plan. She handed it to Remus, who gaped at the thick volume.   
  
"Er...Yes. He's quite pleased to take over for you, really. He never much liked teachers, but transfiguration is his forte."   
  
"Don't let him botch things up, mind you," Hermione remarked. "I've got my classes running on a certain schedule, and at certain standards. I know Sirius is a natural prankster, and may try to alter my methods a little."  
  
"Ah, never," Remus said sarcastically with a dismissing wave of his hand. "But really, he'll respect your wishes."   
  
"I have a note for him on what to cover," Hermione recalled, pulling a roll of parchment from her robes. Remus' eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when it unraveled, revealing nearly eight feet of tiny scrawl. "I do hope I remembered to mention everything," she said fearfully.  
  
"Er, I think you're safe," Remus reassured, taking the parchment from her and tucking it safely into his robes. "I'll be sure to get this to him."   
  
"In one piece?" Hermione asked suspiciously, certain that Remus was the type to rip off about seven feet and give Sirius a foot of the simplest instructions.   
  
"You can count on me," he confirmed with a goofy grin. Hermione couldn't help but smile. She _would_ miss his smiling face and his words of wisdom when he visited her for tea. He had an air about him that made her feel welcome at Hogwarts, and as though she belonged. She approached him. He offered her a handshake, but instead, she pushed his hand aside and hugged him tightly. Unfazed, he hugged her back.   
  
When she pulled away, she smoothed back her hair, as if ashamed that she'd done something so impulsive and was trying desperately to regain her composure. "Do take care, Remus," she said softly. Her vain attempts at maturity were shot, though, when his smile became contagious and spread to her lips as well. She clutched her pouch of Floo powder tightly. "Well, farewell." He nodded in return.   
  
She tossed a bit of the powder into the fire, causing the flames to rise to Hermione's height and glow an emerald green. Gathering her baggage into her arms, she smiled once more to Remus.   
  
"See you in a couple months," was the last thing she heard him say before she stepped into the fire and cried, 'The Burrow!,' and continued on her way.   
~*~  
Harry slept in that morning, awakening to find that his watch stated eleven o'clock. Stretching and yawning, he lay in bed for a few moments before he had to get up. Smelling the lovely scent of cooked sausage, bacon, eggs and toast, his urge to leave the bed became significantly stronger. Looking to the other bed to his right, he noticed that Ron had already gotten up and was downstairs. That, or he had never come to sleep at all.   
  
Standing and gathering his robes, Harry retreated into the hallway where the scent hit him even more pleasantly. Following this enticing smell, he found himself in the kitchen soon enough, where Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were cooking a perfect meal. Mr. Weasley sat at the table, surveying a Muggle newspaper out of hobby, while Ron sipped at his orange juice impatiently, looking longingly at the breakfast not yet finished.  
  
"Morning," Harry grunted, slouching into an open chair at the table.   
  
"Morning," Ginny agreed with a smile, blowing a kiss in his direction. He closed his hand in the air, as if to say he caught her kiss, grinned, and tucked it into his robes for safekeeping.   
  
"Good morning, Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley added, turning the bacon over with a flick of her wand. They splattered in the grease and softly sizzled.   
  
"Got an owl this morning from your Aunt--Prudence," Ginny began to Harry, hastily creating a codename distinctly meant to say Hermione. He picked it up quickly. "She asked when she should arrive into town for the wedding. I told her to come next week, when things were settled." She shot a reproving glance at Ron's back as a gesture to Harry. He nodded, understanding.   
  
"Good, yes, things will be settled by then."   
  
"Whatever are you going on about?" Ron demanded, however distractedly, as Mrs. Weasley began to serve the family eggs and bacon.   
  
But before either Ginny or Harry had a chance to respond, a thump was heard from the livingroom. Ginny, seemingly the only one who noticed, was closest to the door and peeked through. She immediately let out a panicked squeak, dropping the pan of sausage she'd been holding onto the floor.   
  
"Now look what you did," Ron said through a mouthful of egg. "Perfectly good sausage..."   
  
As Mr. Weasley recited a spell to uncontaminate the sausage and allowed it to hover onto individual plates, Ginny looked at Harry, her face as white as a ghost. She tried to jerk her head towards the livingroom without anybody else taking notice of her gesture. Harry didn't understand straight away, and stood up beside her, peeking through the door and having the same reaction, letting out a sort of strangled yell of shock. _Hermione_ had just popped through the fire and was dusting herself off before presenting herself.   
  
"What is it?" Ron demanded curiously, standing to see what all the commotion was about. Harry hastily pushed him away from the door. "What the--Harry!"   
  
"I need you to do me a favor," Harry said hastily, trying to think of a sort of excuse to buy them time.   
  
"What is it, then?"  
  
"Er, I left my, uh, wedding plans outside on the bench last night. Will you kindly go fetch them for me?"   
  
"Why aren't you capable?" Ron demanded suspiciously.  
  
"Well, er, you're the only one finished eating," Harry decided. Ron sighed.  
  
"All right, I'll be back." With that, he disappeared out the door, far beyond to the garden to retrieve the plans Harry never left outside.   
  
"What do we do?" Ginny squealed in undertones to Harry as Mr. And Mrs. Weasley got bored with the racket and continued eating.   
  
"I don't know," Harry admitted. They had planned on having Hermione arrive _next_ week, so they could butter Ron up a bit more before disaster struck. Now they had nothing to prepare anybody for the tornado that would soon sweep through. "Get her out of here."  
  
"How? She's here already! Obviously she hadn't received my owl yet, and figured it would be all right for her to arrive at any time."  
  
"I don't know then--er...Stall! Try to get her out of the house on an errand for a while, so I can work on convincing Ron some more..."  
  
"Oh, dear, this is bad," Ginny panicked, wringing her hands together. "Our plans are all backfiring!"   
  
"Calm down. We'll fix it," Harry reassured lovingly. She nodded and disappeared into the livingroom to keep Hermione busy.   
  
"Ginny!" Hermione greeted warmly, moving to hug her friend. Ginny hugged back tentatively, and noticed what had taken Hermione so long to reveal herself to the family. George and Fred had arrived, apparently by apparation, and were grinning at their little sister.  
  
"Got Mum's owl last night, about the whole Weasley family coming home for the wedding. Splendid idea, really. Alicia and Angelina will be by later tonight," Fred explained.   
  
"Er, yes, splendid," Ginny said hurriedly, trying to distract Hermione from the twins before they said something disastrous. Trying desperately to think of a favor Hermione could do, her panic rose when she heard the door in the kitchen open, signaling that Ron had returned and hadn't found anything. She tried to drown out his voice coming from the kitchen by saying loudly, "How nice of you to arrive on such short notice!" The voices from the kitchen faltered, and then she heard Harry catching on and doing the same by speaking loudly.  
  
"You didn't give me a choice, did you?" Hermione insisted suspiciously. "Said you'd come to collect me even if I refused to come. So I reckoned I'd come as soon as I had it all settled to take my leave."   
  
"It _is_ a pleasure!" Ginny practically yelled, nearly deafening not only Hermione but the twins as well.  
  
"Are you off your rocker, Gin?" George asked at last, looking torn somewhere between confusion and amusement. She bit her lower lip, choosing to ignore the two.  
  
"All right..." said Hermione uncertainly, beginning to take a step. Ginny leapt in her path.   
  
"Where are you going?"   
  
"To the kitchen, to see the rest," she explained.   
  
"They're not in the kitchen," Ginny replied, trying to block out the sounds of voices with her own.   
  
"I hear them," Hermione stated simply. "Please move, Ginny."  
  
"What on earth, Gin? You're acting like a complete nutter," Fred chipped in.   
  
"What's got _your_ robes in a twist?" George added. The twins both moved forward with Hermione.   
  
"No! You can't go in there!" Ginny cried at last, heaving herself in front of the door as if a roadblock. She frantically remembered she'd left her wand on the kitchen table, wishing more than ever that she had it to confuse Hermione and the twins out of their notions to enter the kitchen.   
  
"You're being silly, Ginny," Hermione insisted, trying to move the younger woman. Ginny wouldn't budge.   
  
"Honestly, I think she had too much butterbeer," George explained as he and Fred made their way over to Ginny. Hermione may not have been strong enough to dislodge her, but Fred and George certainly were enough to pull her aside.   
  
"No!" Ginny cried desperately, clinging to the back of Hermione's robes. "No, stop!" But, much to her dismay, Hermione started an argument in Ginny's direction, pushing her way into the kitchen and merely dragging a terrified Ginny at her feet.   
  
The reaction was not a pleasant one. Hermione and Ron both laid eyes on one another instantly, looking horrified at the sight of the other, and at once, the yelling commenced.   
  
"Ginny, Harry, what is _he_ doing here?" Hermione demanded, as Ron at the same time yelled, "Ginny, Harry, what is _she_ doing here?"   
  
"Er...Um," Ginny and Harry said simultaneously, trying to think desperately of a valid excuse.   
  
"Oi...This is messy," Fred decided, positively glowing at the thought of a commencing row. "Carry on then!" he declared, taking a seat at the table and helping himself to a bit of toast. George did the same, chugging some orange juice.   
  
"I can't believe you two would do this to me!" Ron and Hermione shouted to Harry and Ginny at the same moment. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sat at the table in silence, not sure what to do or say in this situation and finding it best to clearly not get involved. Ron and Hermione realized they'd said their scolds in unison, and turned back to one another, screaming, "It's not Harry or Ginny's fault! Don't yell at them!" simultaneously.   
  
"Uh oh," Harry breathed, losing control of his legs and slumping into the nearest chair, preparing himself for the upcoming fight.   
  
"Ronald Weasley, you have _some nerve_ showing up here the same week as me!" Hermione cried.   
  
"It _is my_ home!" Ron defended. "I don't see you growing up here!"   
  
"I might as well have!" Hermione shot back.   
  
"Go ahead, Hermione, kick him in the!--" Fred stopped speaking at once when he got a reproachful look from Mrs. Weasley, who decided at that moment to stand.   
  
"What's all this fuss about, you two? Honestly, it's a happy time, the least you can do for Harry and Ginny is to get along."   
  
"No such thing is happening," Ron hissed irritably.   
  
"Absolutely right," Hermione agreed, turning. "I'm leaving. Thank you, goodbye."   
  
"_Stationarium_!" Ginny cried, having finally retrieved her wand and pointing it at Hermione and Ron. A band appeared on both their wrists and tightened significantly. Both went to work at once to rip them off, but found it impossible. The charm was set. So instead, both looked at Ginny in outstanding anger.  
  
"Look, you two," Ginny began. "Mum is right. It's our wedding, and we make the decisions. And we want _both_ of you there. I don't care what problems you two have with one another, it's _my_ wedding and you're _going to get along properly_, understood?"   
  
Both glared at Ginny and then turned away peevishly. Ginny sighed. "Fine, be angry with me. But this charm is set to last for as long as the witch or wizard who casts it desires, and that would be me. Now neither of you can leave the house."  
  
"Funny thing," Ron laughed bitterly, moving towards the backdoor. "I was just thinking I was keen on leaving. Goodbye." But as soon as the door opened, an invisible force from outside punched him in the stomach and sent him reeling back onto the table, causing George and Fred to complain about him sending their breakfast to the floor.   
  
"You don't see Hermione being daft and making such attempts," Ginny spat. "She's a smart witch, she _knows_ what charm this is. Neither of you, _literally_, can leave the house until I decide it's all right. And there's no way out of it. So you might as well get along."   
  
Ron looked outraged at this decree. "This is ludicrous! You can't do this to us!"  
  
"She can, and she just did," Hermione muttered.  
  
"I didn't ask you," Ron shot back. "So keep your ruddy studious nose out of my business. It'd definitely be a first!"   
  
Hermione's mouth fell open, aghast at this comment. "I'd keep my nose out of your business if you were capable of handing it by yourself! But you've proven to be completely incompetent, therefore--"  
  
"Enough!" Harry shouted, feeling obligated to now step in. Both looked at him expectantly, but still appeared terribly unhappy with the engaged couple. "Honestly, you two, this is bloody batty of you. This childish grudge has carried on long enough, and I know I speak not only for myself but the lot of us when I say we're all quite sick of it. So shape up."   
  
Neither said a word, looking away from their best friend defiantly. Harry sighed in defeat.  
  
"Fine. But don't think it won't occur to you later. This house is only so big, especially for two captives." With that, Harry turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, fuming. Ginny followed him suit to proceed in comforting him.   
  
Harry felt like yelling more. He hadn't done enough. His two best friends, the best friends he'd _ever_ had and grown up with, were hardly on speaking terms. And it was much worse than it had ever been in the past. And now they were two grown adults with various motives and were less apt to give in to the other. It inevitably tore him apart.  
  
Ginny caught up with him in the hallway, gently seizing his arm and spinning him around. He tried to avoid her eyes, but she fought to catch his gaze. "Harry, it's going to be all right," she reassured. "There are two months before the wedding. That's a long time to nurse a wound. And we'll all be there to help them along." At her words, he softened slightly, gathering his fiancee into his arms and burying his nose in her hair, taking in the scent of her that he loved so dearly.   
  
"I love you," he whispered into her ginger locks.   
  
He felt her cheek muscles tighten as she smiled against his chest. "I love you too, Harry."   
~*~  
Back in the kitchen, the twins were fighting to lighten the mood by offering jokes to them or suggesting other examples of silly arguments they'd had in the past, to maybe push them into agreement with this one.   
  
"Mum, Dad, I'm going to my room if you don't mind," Ron declared, ignoring Fred and George. "I'm feeling rather ill at some of the events happening here today."  
  
"You're not the only one, Ron Weasley!" Hermione shouted. "Your face is enough to make any witch want to hurl!"   
  
"At least my face doesn't inspire fear in the hearts of young wizards," Ron shot back, turning on his heel and exiting the room. Hermione puffed up indignantly and headed out the opposite door which would take her into another stairway.   
  
"Well, that went well," Fred said stupidly, still in attempts to resolve the tension.   
  
"Bloody brilliant of Harry and Ginny," George added sarcastically. "Now we've got two rather annoyed guests in the house. What a way to lead up to a wedding!"   
  
"You two, please," Mr. Weasley began, massaging his forehead as if deep in thought. Mrs. Weasley placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, looking quite worried herself. His thinking, however, was interrupted by a faint pop. They all turned to see Percy had apparated to the house, looking joyful.  
  
"Why, hullo, everybody. Nice day, isn't it? Fancy a picnic dinner? Penny would love to help cook it. She'll be along shortly, with Alicia and Angelina. The Ministry was simply so distracted today, trying to keep concentration on pressing issues when the sky looked so lovely. Mind you, now, that I'll be staying here but I'll need to disapparate out frequently to be sure all's going well at the office. Wouldn't want my absence to be responsible for a calamity, you know." After this speech, Percy caught sight of the discouraged looks on his parents' faces, and Fred and George's exasperation. "What, what's the problem? Something I said?"  
  
"Nothing you said," George reassured. "You can visit the office as much as you please. Try to make it as often as possible."   
  
"George!" Mrs. Weasley reprimanded.   
  
"Sorry, Perce. Just a joke."   
  
"I hate arriving in the middle of things," Percy admitted, puzzled. "Downright confusing."   


**_TO BE CONTINUED...  
_***~*  


**A/N: Please review with your thoughts, questions, and concerns!**


	5. Sacrifices Must Be Made

**_A/N: Sorry guys, I suppose the beginning to this fic has been downright boring. I had to lead up to everything though, it's a terrible habit of mine. I really hope it's enjoyable...  
~  
Disclaimer: JK Rowling, God herself, owns these marvelous characters and their marvelous personalities!   
Claimer: I own--*laughs* Oh, wait, I don't own anything!  
_**

~*~  
Title: Ready For What's To Come?  
Time Period: Ron, Harry, and Hermione graduated  
from Hogwarts three years back, and went their  
separate ways. So they're about twenty, twenty-one.  
Summary: Ginny and Harry have news to announce  
to the wizarding world...Will it bring their two best friends  
back into ties again, or simply push them further apart?  
Ginny and Harry fight to make peace between them all.  
Shipping: H/G, and R/Hr later  
~*~  
Ready For What's To Come?  
~*~  


"There! Go on! Not so hard, is it?" Sirius beamed. The fourth-years were attempting whole-heartedly to follow Sirius's lead of turning their bacon into the original pig. Mostly, needless to say, were having quite a struggle. He noticed that only one student had completely succeeded. A girl by the name of Jenevive Pinwater, who was feeding her pig a roll that she'd saved from lunch. Sirius applauded.  
  
"Marvelous! Now, mind you, this is our little secret, right? If Professor Granger found out that I'd altered the lesson plan a smidge...Well, massive consequences of all sorts!" Sirius was interrupted by the dismissal of class signified by the bell. "Ah, that'd be the end of the lesson! See you all at dinner." With that, the class, fazed with confusion, hurried to exit the room as Sirius laughed to himself and smuggled some of the leftover bacon from desks around the room.   
  
"Professor Black, I do believe you're abusing your authority," came a voice from the door. Sirius turned to see Remus tut-tutting at the sight of Sirius's feasting.   
  
"Do you protest?" Sirius asked.   
  
"Not at all. In fact, mind if I join you?" Remus inquired, descending the steps into the room and selecting his own piece of bacon. "Brilliant idea, really. Hermione's lesson?"  
  
Sirius sniggered slightly. "Not quite."  
  
"Tsk tsk, Sirius, I think I'm correct in assuming she made you a schedule."  
  
"I have plenty of time to cover pocket watches and dinner plates," Sirius insisted with a dismissing wave of his hand. He fished into his robes and pulled out her eight-foot note. "I'd like to see _you_ read through this blasted thing! I'm an aging wizard, I want to spend my time wisely before I grow my gray hairs. This would merely speed up the process."   
  
"Sorry to say, my friend, you've begun the process already," Remus admitted.  
  
"Denial is a beautiful thing, Moony, simply gorgeous," said Sirius with a lopsided grin. He began to gather up the remainder of the bacon, levitating it all to the garbage. "Have you kept in touch with Hermione the past few days?" Sirius questioned.   
  
"A bit," said Remus. "Ginny put the Stationarius curse on her, though. Neither she or Ron can leave the house until Ginny lifts the spell. Hermione's not too pleased."  
  
"And nor should she be. Although, that was a brilliant move. Definitely the fiancee of my godson," Sirius beamed. "Brilliant couple. So reminiscent of Lily and James."  
  
Remus' smile faltered slightly, as did that of Sirius. Both stood for a moment in respective mournful silence, then began to continue cleaning the classroom. An unspoken agreement of nostalgia reached both the professors as they tidied up. James and Lily were merely a memory now and both fought to accept that fact. So instead, Sirius continued.   
  
"Have they set a wedding date yet?"   
  
"Indeed. First of July," Remus responded importantly. "Scheduled after term so the professors of Hogwarts can attend."   
  
"I wonder if it will be a similar mess," Sirius wondered, half-consciously taking a seat at the teacher's desk. "Remember when that frog popped out from underneath Lily's veil?"   
  
"I could never forget it," Remus confirmed. "Which one of us did that, anyway?"   
  
"It was you, wasn't it?"   
  
"No, I thought it was you."   
  
Both laughed in recollection. The guilty party of most pranks had been long forgotten, leaving only the trail of the prank itself. As both fought to remember the good old days, they realized they were running late for dinner, and retreated from the classroom without another word, lost in their own thoughts.   
~*~  
Back at The Burrow things were tense, but seemed to be easing up a bit with the high spirits of the Weasley family. During the event of lunch, Percy had attempted to explain his latest report on sturdiness of wands, using Ron's mishap of damaging his own in his second year as an example. While finding this incredibly boring, a deal of the family made sincere attempts to appear intrigued. Fred and George, however, dismissed the manners and went on to slip Ton-Tongue Toffees into Percy's mashed potatos. Needless to say, with an oversized tongue, he'd shut up.  
  
"So anyway," Fred had begun a hearty mockery of Percy whilst Arthur tried to change his son's tongue back to normal, "As fascinating as that all was, I believe my report on broomsticks is _much_ more interesting. Why don't we discuss its validity. George?"  
  
"Why, yes, Fred," George agreed with as much wit, "Our report states in all seriousness that the sleekness is all based on the character of the wizard who invented it."   
  
They were silenced, however, when Mrs. Weasley shot a quieting charm at them both. Half-astonished at being taken off-guard, and half-amused at their mother's nerve, the twins were no more shaken up by this than they would be watching it performed on another. Harry tried to make sense of their logic, but gave up when his head began to hurt. They _were_, he concluded, the Weasley twins. There was no more logic than that.   
  
Once the charm had worn off and the plates cleaned and stomachs full, the twins suggested a game of Quidditch. Ron and Harry excitedly complied and the four boys filed into the backyard with their brooms, Ginny changing the standards of the bracelet so that Ron could travel outdoors to entertain himself.   
  
Ginny followed with the newly-arrived Angelina and Alicia, and they took seats at the picnic table while watching their significant others fly through the sky with skill. Penelope arrived shortly after, as well, and the girls got into a giggly discussion about the wedding. Hermione followed in the light that it was all she could do. However, she kept her distance from the rest of the females, taking a seat on the bench. Trying her hardest to appear distracted, she couldn't take her eyes off Ron. He was so bloody frustrating! Sometimes she wanted to waltz right up to him and punch him in the nose, hoping to rearrange his freckles a bit. Other times she felt the urge to grab him and hold him down while she kissed him with all her might. Whenever thoughts like this occurred, however, she pushed them away, pretending she never conjured them in her mind.   
  
She had such mixed feelings about him, and she knew that she did. She hesitated to acknowledge that fact, though. The most important thing was to remember that she hated him with all her heart. But she loved to hate him, and hated to...love him? After all, what's the difference between love and hate? Both take equal amounts of energy and emotion. There really exists a fine line between the two. Most people don't realize it, though.   
  
Arguing was something Hermione and Ron both loved dearly, although all they did was complain about one another while not on speaking terms. But the fact that the other was never off their minds as they squabbled should have sparked some sort of recognition. However, both were stubborn and quick to deny theories, sticking to their own and ignoring idle thoughts.  
  
"Have you heard the latest about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" Hermione overheard Penelope whisper, almost as though to keep it amongst the girls. Her ears perked slightly as she eavesdropped on the conversation.   
  
"No, what's happened?" Angelina inquired.   
  
"Percy says the Ministry Officials were alerted that he's been spotted near Surrey," Penelope updated. "Said they're trying to keep it hushed up. Don't know why they try so hard; it leaks out anyway, never fails."  
  
"Do you think he'll do something drastic?" Alicia breathed. "Do you think he'll...Kill?"   
  
"It's hard to say," Penelope stated after a moment's hesitation. "He never is, as you know, predictable. Things are getting too quiet...Much too quiet. Percy reckons he's biding his time again, waiting to attack with the element of surprise."   
  
"Well, what is he after this time?" Ginny questioned, holding her breath fearfully.  
  
Angelina, Penelope, and Alicia fell silent, glancing only up at The Boy Who Lived, who was busy trying to tackle Fred off his broom in good fun. Ginny's eyes became downcast, trying to reassure herself about the safety of her fiancee.   
  
"None of us have Hogwarts or Dumbledore to fall back on any longer," Angelina began. "You-Know-Who never would dare to attack with Dumbledore at our sides. Nobody's as safe these days."   
  
Hermione took in a sharp gasp of breath, turning this over in her mind. Surrey was where Harry had lived on Privet Drive. What on earth was Voldemort doing there? Unless he thought Harry still resided there...  
  
She glanced up at her best friend as he did a loop-the-loop on his Firebolt and grasped the Snitch. What if...Voldemort was looking to kill? Again?   
~*~  
"So how are things going at Hogwarts?" Harry asked the form of Sirius's head which floated in the fire before him.   
  
Sirius grinned. "Marvelous. Don't tell Hermione I said that, though. If she asks, things are quite busy...Quite busy indeed..."  
  
Harry laughed to himself at Sirius's antics, feeling more high-spirited talking to his Godfather. "I'm sure she'd be delighted to hear that."   
  
"Of course she would. Which is why we won't tell her the truth."   
  
Both shared a laugh at this comment.  
  
"So," Sirius began seriously. "How are things with Ron and Hermione?"  
  
Harry sighed with defeat. "A bloody mess. Neither have the brains to fix a problem, merely to feed the fire. Ginny and I have tried all we could manage. We're beginning to think that it's useless." Sirius looked on with sympathy. "You know, I don't think it's too much to ask for them to be civil. Am I right? I mean, it _is_ mine and Ginny's wedding approaching, and they _are_ my best friends. It seems like the least they could do is get along for this event. It's important to me." Harry felt like exploding with emotion, and would have felt comfortable doing so to Sirius, but instead held back in case a Weasley family member stepped in the room.   
  
"I know, Harry. And Ron and Hermione are rather loyal, so I wouldn't doubt that they'll shape up far before the wedding. They both know they're hurting you. Right now, though, their pride is just getting in the way. You know how that is. You've seen it happen to both you and Ron before."   
  
"Yes, but, we were fourteen!" Harry insisted. "And it didn't last nearly as long. A month at most. Not _three years_."  
  
"But who knows how long it would have lasted had you not been in contact with each other," Sirius quipped. "Just as Hermione and Ron will be forced to reconcile. They can't get away from one another, and they're going to realize how much they miss each other. It's much easier when you don't have to see the person or even look at them." Harry groaned in frustration. "Look, Harry," Sirius began uncertainly. "I'll tell you an interesting story that may help you." Harry looked at him expectantly. "If it makes you feel any better, I knew a witch and a wizard who got into a spat and didn't talk for nearly two years. But then when they were assigned to a project together for Dumbledore, things changed. These two people fell in love."   
  
Harry looked at his Godfather uncertainly. "My mum and dad?" he whispered. To his surprise, Sirius shook his head.   
  
"No. No matter who it is, though," he added quickly, and Harry swore he saw a slight blush rise in his cheeks through the fire. "My point is that people can argue. But it never lasts forever."   
  
"Harry, I need your help," Ron began, walking into the room and skimming over some paperwork. "I haven't a clue what--Oh, hello, Sirius," he added.   
  
"All right, there, Ron?" Sirius greeted. Ron nodded.   
  
"I'm fair."   
  
"Well, Harry, I have another lesson to teach," said Sirius, beaming. "Remember what I told you. All right?" Harry nodded in agreement. "Take care."  
  
"You too, Sirius." And with that, with a faint pop, he was gone.  
  
"What was that all about?" Ron questioned suspiciously.   
  
"Nothing," Harry assured. "Just talking about his lessons and such. He gave me some advice on marriage, too," he bluffed.   
  
"How would he know? He's never been married," Ron said uncertainly.  
  
Harry simply shrugged.   
~*~  
The Weasleys had taken Percy up on his suggestion and were outdoors cooking a barbeque. While the boys were involved in another draining game of Quidditch, the women had gladly taken it upon themselves to arrange dinner. Hermione, Percy, and Arthur meanwhile were working on de-gnoming the garden once again.   
  
As Hermione spun a gnome over her head and flung it into the field, she couldn't help but think about how occupied her thoughts had become with not only Ron, but now Harry. A new concern filled her veins that didn't seem to quite reach the rest, save Ginny. She could tell easily that Ginny was disturbed. She was constantly jumping in surprise when people tapped her on the shoulder or said her name. And her complexion was oddly pale.   
  
Hermione was just as worried about Harry. She looked up at the boys playing Quidditch again, and wondered to herself silently how she could try to find out something more. Talk to Percy? No, she wasn't supposed to know about the Voldemort issue. He'd have a fit and it'd cause a row between him and his wife. Fred and George? Not likely. Ginny and the other women seemed too shaken up to have a serious discussion about it. Harry, absolutely not. That left...Ron.   
  
Hermione felt herself blush secretly. After an inner debate with herself about her pride, she decided that Harry's safety was far more important, and resolved to initiate a conversation with Ron once the family had gone to bed.   
~*~  
It wasn't a difficult task, waiting until the lot had turned in. Most were tired from the days events and didn't hesitate to lock themselves in their rooms.   
  
Hermione pretended to be asleep as Ginny opened the door and laid down herself. After a few moments, Hermione heard Ginny's steady breathing and was certain she was in a deep sleep. She lifted back her covers and stood, creeping silently out of the room.   
  
Traveling down the hallway, she was sure she heard Fred and Angelina giggling from their room, and turned scarlet in thoughts of what they were doing. She kept her pace and made way down to the livingroom, where, sure enough, Ron was slaving over paperwork once again.   
  
She was somewhat confused, however. Ron was never one to keep a tight grasp on his work. Something told her, though, that it was a relief for him. An escape. The look on his face was enough to convince her of this, knowing the look quite well herself. It was the look she often adopted when she hovered over her books in the firelight night after night.   
  
Her fear was beginning to get the best of her. Maybe this wasn't such a brilliant idea, she decided, feeling foolish having sneaked out of bed to come speak to _Ron Weasley_. As she took a hesitant step forward, the floorboard creaked and she jumped back, startled.   
  
This caught his attention, however. He turned to see her standing there, looking petrified. He turned back to his work as though her presence didn't faze him.   
  
"Ron?" she whispered, trying to sound as neutral as possible. He again ignored her. She gathered up her courage and plopped down into an armchair near him. He seemed to shift away from her. "Ron, I need to talk to you, it's important." No response. "It's about Harry...and--and, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." This seemed to catch his attention, as his eyes flickered strangely and he looked up from his work. "I overheard Penny talking today about something Percy heard at the ministry and...I thought you had a right to know. And maybe that you knew more than I did."   
  
They sat in silence for a few moments, before Ron looked straight at her, still seemingly annoyed, but looking worried. "What about Him?" he asked softly.   
  
"He was spotted in Surrey this week," Hermione explained. "The Ministry doesn't want anybody to know, though. They're worried about causing an uproar."  
  
"Surrey..." Ron began distantly.   
  
"Was the place Harry grew up in," Hermione finished. "Oh, Ron, I know we're on horrid terms, but, Harry's more important than that." She waited for his response, and finally, earned a nod.   
  
"Harry _is_ more important," he agreed to himself. He looked at Hermione. "Have you heard anything else?"  
  
"Nothing," Hermione said in defeat, shaking her head. "But if--I mean--I wanted to check it out..."  
  
"That would be nice," Ron began harshly, "except, oh yes, we can't leave the premesis, remember?" Hermione blanched, recalling this pesky charm. She sighed in defeat.   
  
"There's only one thing to do, then," she stated. He looked at her expectantly. "Put on a show that we've begun to get along. Maybe Gin will lift the spell..."  
  
"Unlikely," Ron offered, seemingly deep in thought. "However, we _could_ send somebody else..."   
  
"Like who?" Hermione asked. "Nobody else would take this seriously. They don't know things we do. They haven't talked to Harry about it like we have."   
  
Ron snapped his fingers faintly. "Fred and George."   
  
"Excuse me?" Hermione choked.   
  
"They may be a ruddy handful, but they're as reliable as they are red-headed," he insisted. "They won't breathe a word. And they're well-experienced in sneaking around. They could get a lot of precious information for us."   
  
"So what are we going to do, then?" Hermione questioned. "Send them to Surrey?"  
  
"Sounds plausible," Ron agreed. They sat in uncomfortable silence again for a moment. Hermione realized that in order to save Harry, she and Ron would need to trust one another whole-heartedly. The grudge looked quite petty when compared to Harry's dilemma.   
  
"Ron--" she began, just as he started to say, "Hermione." Both looked away at this, when she said, "I know. You don't need to say it. We're both horrid at apologizing."  
  
"So we can skip that part?" Ron asked, looking quite relieved. Hermione nodded.   
  
"Ron?" she asked again. He looked up, looking somewhat annoyed but significantly warmer than he would have responded the previous day. "Er...You should get some rest. You _are_ on holiday, you know. You don't see me working so hard."  
  
"You've also got someone filling in for you," he said, gesturing to the fire as if indicating Sirius's and Harry's earlier conversation. However, he sighed in defeat and set down his quill. "I suppose you're right, though. It's late."   
  
"It is," she agreed. As he stood, she did so as well. They began walking back to the staircase together. Then, somewhat awkwardly, they looked at one another. "Well, er, goodnight," she stated. He blushed slightly and nodded.  
  
"Yes. Goodnight." With that, she began to ascend the stairs, not ignoring the fact that their hands brushed together as she passed him. She found herself grateful that he could no longer see her and would not see the scarlet color mercilessly rising in her cheeks.  


**_  
TO BE CONTINUED...  
_***~*  


**A/N: Please review with your thoughts, questions, and concerns!**


	6. Favors To Ask

A/N: Hey guys, sorry this chapter is so late! It has been a long time, hasn't it? Well, in light of the 5th novel being released in a little under a month, I found the urge to pick this up again. I will try my best to keep you posted on it. Take care, hope you enjoy this chapter!   
  
~MaRCiE~  
  
~*~  
  
Ron fought to sleep that night. All of the information that Hermione had released to him had occupied his thoughts, accompanied by she herself. It hadn't been until earlier by the light of the fire that he happened to notice how her hair shined and her eyes twinkled, and her nose crinkled when she became worried about Harry. Her brow creased and she wrung her hands as if there was no tomorrow. And seeing her worried caused him to be worried...every time.   
  
  
  
"What am I *doing*?!" he said aloud to himself at last, realizing where his thoughts of Hermione had led. He turned over in bed for quite possibly the thirtieth time in the past twenty minutes, causing the bed to creak considerably.   
  
"I don't know, but if you could bloody get some rest, maybe I could as well," said Harry irritably from the mattress on the floor. Ron jumped, unaware that Harry had been awake.   
  
"Sorry, Harry, didn't know you weren't asleep," Ron apologized sheepishly, turning over one last time and dedicating himself to that position.   
  
"G'night, Ron," Harry said with a tone of finality in his voice.   
  
"Yeah. Night, Harry." He paused a moment. "Harry?" he began, wondering whether or not he should confide about Hermione.   
  
"What, Ron?" Harry groaned. He definitely was grumpy when he didn't get an adequate amount of sleep.   
  
"I...Nevermind," he decided hastily.   
  
Harry made an inaudible noise and sighed. "I'm sorry, Ron, I'm just tired. Go ahead and tell me what you were gonna say."  
  
"I forgot," Ron lied.  
  
Harry paused uncertainly, as if seeing though his lie. He didn't push it though. "Good night then."   
  
"Yes. Good night." But for Ron Weasley it wasn't much of a good night...And sleep was not very generous.  
  
~*~  
  
"Ron! Get up!" sang Fred, leaping onto Ron's bed and jumping up and down like a kid. George joined him, jostling Ron back and forth across the mattress.   
  
"Gerroff," Ron muttered, burying his face under his pillow. "I'm sleeping."  
  
"Not anymore, you aren't!" George declared, grabbing the pillow and tossing it to Fred, who began pummeling Ron with it immediately.   
  
"You guys!" Ron protested angrily, hiding under his blanket. "Stop!"   
  
George laughed at this, snatching the blanket away from Ron's body. He curled up into the fetal position immediately. "Mum's making her famous omelettes for breakfast this morning!"  
  
"Yeah, Ronniekins, don't try to tell us that you don't want one...Or six!" Fred added, lightening up on his pillow fight. Ron became suddenly alert and awake, sniffing the air as if for evidence that the eggs were cooking.   
  
"Why didn't you say so?" he asked, leaping out of the bed and hurrying downstairs.   
  
"Hey! Wait for us!" Fred cried after him, as they tossed the blanket and pillow behind them messily and raced down the stairs after him. The three juvenile adults skidded into the kitchen, fighting over seats and finally settling down.   
  
"Good morning," said Ron to the table brightly. "Omelette, Mum?"  
  
"Wait your turn, there's plenty to go around," said Mrs. Weasley patiently as she was serving Percy. Even he seemed more excited as he picked out the best one from the plate. The rest of the table, save Harry, Hermione, and the wives, were getting slightly antsy.   
  
"Get on with it, Percy," said Ginny quickly, eyeing the plate hungrily. He sped up his choice and passed it to his younger sister, who took the first one she saw. Soon enough, the plate had gone around the breakfast table and the lot were eating merrily. It wasn't until Hermione politely asked Ron to pass the salt that this bliss was interrupted. Harry nearly choked, Ginny dropped her fork with a loud clatter, Mrs. Weasley squealed in confusion, Mr. Weasley lowered his Muggle paper, Fred and George exchanged looks, and Percy turned so sharply in his chair that he nearly fell off.   
  
"Did I hear right?" questioned Harry, sticking his finger in his ear as if to clean out blockage.   
  
"Did you just ask Ron for the salt like a...Civilized person?" Ginny questioned.   
  
Ron and Hermione both turned scarlet at this very unexpected reaction, murmuring excuses under their breath. "Things change," Hermione was heard muttering. Neither could look at the other for nearly ten minutes after that, too embarrassed about their behavior, be it the current or the prior. The family got on slightly happier after this, in the light of the two's neutrality.   
  
"Ah, The Prophet," said Mrs. Weasley as Errol flew towards the window. Before the bird could crash, she grabbed the paper and Percy caught Errol with ease, allowing him to pick at the remains of his omelette that could not be eaten. Mrs. Weasley skimmed the paper.   
  
"Oh, dear," she muttered, clicking her tongue in disapproval.   
  
"What is it, Mum?" asked George, going at a third omelette.   
  
"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named struck in Surrey...Two Muggles have died."   
  
The table looked solemn. Fred asked quietly, "Does it say the names, Mum?"  
  
Mrs. Weasley scanned the article and shook her head. "No. Sounds like Fudge is fighting to keep it very underwraps. You know how scandalous it is for a Muggle to be caught up in this chaos. Their kind are bound to notice."  
  
Arthur, looking worried, skimmed his own Muggle paper in hopes to locate any names. He couldn't even find an article on the topic, however. This gave a large disappointment to the family, eager to know if the victims were the parents of half-blood friends. Ron and Hermione glanced at the twins, who were looking highly concerned about the news; they then exchanged knowing looks, nodding in confirmation, prepared to let the twins in on their plan as soon as possible.   
  
~*~  
  
After breakfast, the family was gathered in the livingroom, talking amongst themselves in high spirits, trying to forget the light of the Voldemort news. It was just about all they could do, really. Dwelling on the subject made no difference in what was going on in Surrey.   
  
Hermione and Ron made several attemps to talk to Fred and George, constantly being brushed away due to the twins' distraction by another family member, or being wrapped up in another conversation. Hermione sent Ron a glance that had frustration written all over it. He returned the gesture. At last, Hermione murmured a spell beneath her breath to strike the twins with sudden hunger. They announced their brief leave, and wandered into the kitchen, followed subtly by Ron and Hermione themselves.  
  
The twins stopped once they'd gone through the doors. "What did we come in here for again, Fred?"  
  
"I'm not sure, George." They looked around the room and acknowledged what it was. "Oh, right. Must have been food."  
  
"It's always food," George agreed happily. They scurried over to the counter to snake some cookies.   
  
"Fred, George," Ron began. The twins turned around, taken offguard by their entrance.   
  
"Oh, s'only you," George exclaimed through a mouthfull of food. "Fancy a cookie?"  
  
"No, thanks, full from breakfast," Ron replied.   
  
" 'Ermione?" George questioned through the crumbs, offering a hand.   
  
"No, thanks."   
  
"We've something important to discuss with you two," Ron said straight-forwardly, taking a seat at the kitchen table. Fred and George glanced at each other uncertainly.  
  
"What's that? Don't tell us that you volunteered us to help Mum with the next de-gnoming?" Fred groaned.   
  
"Or to clean house."  
  
"Or cook!"   
  
"Horrid!"  
  
"Boys, boys," Hermione began. "Nothing like that. It's actually quite relevent..."   
  
"Oh, all right then. What is it?"   
  
Hermione and Ron looked between each other, as if deciding how to tell the twins such delicate news without allowing them to under- or over-react.   
  
Fred gasped.   
  
"What?"  
  
"Don't tell me...You two...You two are going to get married!" Fred remarked cheekily. "Ron, you old clever bat!"  
  
"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" George added. "We're of course in the wedding party."  
  
"We'll also arrange the activities!"  
  
"Mmm, and the catering!"  
  
"You guys!" Hermione cut in. "It's nothing like that."   
  
"Oh. Then what are you going on about?"   
  
"Do you remember that news article your mum read at breakfast this morning?" Hermione asked.   
  
Their faces darkened slightly. "Sure, why?"  
  
  
  
"Those Muggles were killed in Surrey," Ron commented. "That's where Harry grew up."   
  
Fred and George exchanged looks, as if reading the minds of Ron and Hermione. George gulped. "D'ya mean to say...That He's after Harry again?"  
  
"Hard to say," Hermione quipped. "But we do know that Harry has always been and will always be His main target. He's got a vengence and won't be stopped until he feeds it."   
  
"So what does that have to do with us?" Fred asked.   
  
"That's the hard part," Ron filled in. "Basically, we'd be delighted to check the situation out, but--"  
  
"--Stationarius Charm," Hermione finished, as both held up their wrists simultaneously, illustrating the charmed locks around their hands.  
  
"Ah. Understood."   
  
"So...You two have always had a knack for secrecy and sneakiness...You need to look into this for us."   
  
"Us?" Fred asked in shock. George had dropped the cookies he was holding. "You want...*US* to do this for you?"  
  
"Sure we've had experience sneaking about," George continued, "but not in dangerous situations!"   
  
"Harry's life could be at stake," Hermione said bluntly. "Do you want that on your conscience? We could go if we could, but we can't, and we're entrusting you with this information and with the mission. Please, do this for Harry."  
  
The twins looked at each other once again, and then back at the other two. "All right...For Harry..." George said softly.   
  
~*~  
  
Ron and Hermione had sent Fred and George on their way as soon as they could   
  
get them out of the house without being spotted. The Burrow was oddly quiet around lunch time with the absense of the twins, and the odd quirky noises and jokes floating about.   
  
"Where are they, anyway?" Mrs. Weasley asked curiously.  
  
"Oh, running a favor, for us," Ron said truthfully.  
  
"Yeah, we can't exactly leave the house like this," Hermione agreed, indicating her wrist.   
  
"Ah, all right then. Tuck in everyone." And with that, they did. And what a wonderful lunch indeed. Mashed potatos with gravy, and biscuits and chicken. It was delightful for the lot as they fed their faces anxiously.  
  
"Pity Fred's missing this meal," Angelina said. "Mashed potatos are his favourite."  
  
"Yeah," Ron croaked, swallowing the lump in his throat and exchanging a look of uncertainty with Hermione. "Pity."   
  
~*~  
  
Night began to fall delicately that evening, the sun floating down past the horizon as though a magnificent painting of perfection, dazzling colors brushing across the sky. The Weasley family, mostly indifferent about the twins' absense, were all engaged in colorful conversation around a bonfire in the backyard. With the exception of Ron and Hermione, who had decided, under the circumstances, to take a stroll alongside the edge of the forest.  
  
Both were somewhat uncomfortable, well aware of the other's discomfort as well. Hermione watched in fascination as Ron stared straight ahead into the sunset, his blue eyes reflecting the brilliant light so lovingly, his hands stuffed thoughtfully into his pockets. And--  
  
*What are you doing? This is Ron!* Hermione thought to herself chastisingly, forcing herself to turn away from the sight. However, she felt her eyes drawn back, as though magnetised. Ron's red hair was slightly disheveled, falling in wisps on his freckled forehead. There was a look of set determination on his face, as though he was ready to conquer the world, even though he was plagued by fear.   
  
"D'you think they're on their way home?" Ron whispered, throwing Hermione violently from her reverie. She shook her head, as if to rid herself of the day dream.   
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"I said, do you think Fred and George are on their way home?" Ron repeated, turning his head to look into her eyes. Hermione felt her knees shudder and for the first real time in her entire existence, admitted to herself that Ron was quite good-looking. Though she would never tell him that.   
  
"Oh," Hermione breathed, licking her lips to regain her composure. "Yes, yes, probably."   
  
"Good, I'm getting rather worried," Ron confessed. Hermione was in awe of how well the color of his blue button shirt suited his features.   
  
"As am I," Hermione agreed, suddenly finding her feet immensely interesting. Though she and Ron had settled on neutral grounds, there was still no implication of them ever reconstructing their friendship. Much less...their relationship.   
  
"Here, let's sit," Ron decided, gesturing to the home-made bench alongside the trees. Unbeknownst to Ron and Hermione, it was in that very magical spot that Harry had asked Ginny the most important question of her entire life. So, obliviously, the two took their seats, pondering the possibilities of Fred and George's mission. In concentration, Ron leaned forward, putting his weight on his knees with his elbows, his hands clasped in the air. A small gust of wind blew by, tousling his hair lovingly. Hermione had to restrain herself from reaching out to copy the wind's actions.   
  
*Ooh, this is driving me buggers!* Hermione screamed silently to herself, wanting nothing more than to reach out and take his hand. She reprimanded herself for such inappropriate urges in such a time of worry. But she simply couldn't stand it any longer.   
  
"I really am sorry, Ron," she blurted, unable to stop herself. Her pride had ebbed away in a frenzy of confusion, leaving only her heart to call the shots. Ron paused for a moment, then turned to meet her gaze.   
  
"Pardon?"   
  
"I'm...Sorry," she stuttered, watching the fire in the distance and hearing the laughter so far away echoing through the night sky. "For everything." She took special care in avoiding his gaze, noting that her heart rate was rapidly increasing.   
  
What she anticipated was for Ron to blow it off, pretending as though she had not said a word, and change the subject back to what they both knew best: Harry. Instead, from her periphorals, she noticed that he tentatively turned his head back to look at her in curiosity. She ignored the burning sensation of his eyes boring into the features of her face. Though try as she might, she could not ignore the fact that his hand grazed past hers on the bench as he moved to set it down. They both recoiled abruptly, still avoiding one another's gaze. Then, at last, when both hoped it to to be safe, they turned back to one another, unable to shy away for the magnetic force that was keeping their gazes locked. And simultaneously, both began to lean in, hearts racing, breathing sharp. Their lips had just barely brushed across the other's when they heard the sound of a faint pop. Upon initial shock, they flew apart, to opposite ends of the bench, looking interestedly in opposite directions.   
  
"Ron, Hermione," said Fred breathlessly as he and George approached from the forest's edge. The witch and wizard looked up eagerly at their arrival, forgetting the awkward atmosphere. The twins both appeared out of breath, and troubled. Even their normally freckled faces had been painted with pale expressions of fear.   
  
"What is it? What did you find out?" Ron pressed, jumping to his feet in concern. Hermione followed suit, instinctively looping her shivering arm through his. He gave her arm a squeeze of comfort, not taking his eyes away from his brothers.   
  
"He...He...He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named..." George panted, holding the stitch in his side. Ron and Hermione exchanged looks of terror at their condition.   
  
"What about him? Did you see him?" Hermione urged.   
  
Fred nodded fervently, gesturing to a scar on George's face and a singe mark across his own robe. "We fought him for a moment. Then he fled to who-knows-where."   
  
"You *what*?" Ron demanded with his typical brotherly protective mode, stepping away from Hermione to study the twins' condition for himself. "Are you all right?"   
  
"We're fine, don't worry about us," Fred gulped, regaining his composure. However, George was still panting mercilessly, looking over his shoulder at the bonfire in the distance.   
  
"Those Muggles...You know the ones we read about this morning?" Fred continued urgently, a look of sorrow decorating his features. Ron and Hermione nodded.   
  
"Yes. What about them?"   
  
"Those Muggles that were killed. They were the Dursleys."   
  
~*~  
  
TO BE CONTINUED 


	7. Encounters Of The Wizarding Kind

_**Chapter Seven: Encounters Of The Wizarding Kind**

_

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling, the genius herself, owns these marvelous characters and their marvelous personalities!  
**Claimer:** I own--*laughs* Oh, wait, I don't own anything! 

~*~ 

_**A/N:** Hey guys, here's chapter seven of this series. FINALLY. FanFiction.net wouldn't let me post it for a good 4 days. I hope you're enjoying reading it as much as I've been enjoying writing it. Oh, and also--regarding the scene with the obituaries--I'm an American and I honestly don't know how papers in England appear, so please give me a bit of slack there. Anyway...Order Of The Phoenix is out in 7 days. Let me know what you think of my fan fiction, and what you think of the fifth novel once you've read it. Take care! _

**~MaRCiE~**

~*~ 

"What? I'm not sure I heard you correctly," Ron stated bluntly, twisting his pinky gently in his ear as if to clean out the wax buildup that was responsible for his mistake.  


"The Dursleys," George repeated in expectation, foreseeing Ron's disbelief. The younger brother merely shook his head.  


"It's got to be some sort of mistake," he declared in defiance, pulling his arm out of Hermione's quickly. She felt somewhat hurt by his rejection, however decided that it was not a proper time to be dwelling on their feelings.  


"We're not bloody _joking_, Ron," Fred persisted, his face still an odd shade of white as he gulped, his eyes shifting in every which direction constantly. "It's not safe out here on the outskirts of the woods," he added cautiously. "He's got spies everywhere."  


"Then let's go up to the house," Hermione suggested, gesturing to the building. "We can talk about it there and you can tell us all about what happened."  


The twins nodded in agreement, traipsing through the grass quietly towards the house, not wishing to be spotted by any members of the family to save interrogations for later. Ron followed his brothers tentatively, trying to will his thoughts to disregard the new information. However, he knew just as well as brilliant Hermione that the twins would not lie, nor were they stupid in any sense.  


Ron was the first to reach the backdoor of the kitchen, turning the knob and allowing the entrance of the other three. If he hadn't been so lost in his thoughts, the deliberate contact Hermione made with him as her body brushed past his on her way inside would have occurred to him in a joyous fashion. He turned slowly to be sure nobody was following them, and then retreated inside, himself.  


"Okay," Hermione began rationally, taking a seat at the Weasley kitchen table and clasping her hands together in a worried manner, her eyes trained on Fred and George. "Tell us everything you remember."  


Fred and George exchanged looks, as if deciding how to begin the tale. At last, George let loose an all-mighty sigh and began his rendition. "All right...This is how it went..."  


~

  
_**

A HALF HOUR PRIOR…

**  


The twins Apparated into the backyard of the Dursley household, almost tripping on one another as they appeared on the grass. The light of the moon seemed to be taking refuge in the safe haven amongst the clouds. Indeed it was an extremely dark night in Surrey, the stars a blurred vision from the ground. Even the wind was particularly dormant, refusing to brush through trees or strands of hair.  


The Weasley twins hardly noticed the eerie feeling of the night. Their hope was to uncover a newspaper article of some sort, or something else that may help inform them of the Muggle deaths that took place.  


"Oi, George, watch your knee," Fred joked as the two made their way towards the house only meters away.  


"Sorry about that," George chuckled, straightening his robes and carelessly fingering his wand in his pocket, not expecting to require its use. The pair approached the back door of the basic home, glancing up and down the remainder of the street in curiosity.  


"All these houses look the same, mate," Fred observed in confusion, his eyes wandering back and forth. "Are you sure this is the one?"  


"The sign may be an indication," George decided sarcastically, pointing to the plaque above the door that stated "DURSLEY" in bold, black, plain lettering.  


"Shut up," Fred retaliated, elbowing his brother in the ribcage as he began walking away towards a nearby window. "Yeah, see if one of those windows is open because the door's most likely locked," Fred suggested. He reached his hand out for the knob, expecting it to disallow the desired turning. Much to his surprise, it indeed was open. "Oi, George," he called casually to his brother who had one leg inside the kitchen window already. Fred pointed to the door. "We're in."  


"How ruddy **boring**. I've got it covered," he decided, struggling to fit his body through the small opening with determination. Fred merely rolled his eyes and entered the house in the easy fashion, slowly shutting the door behind him, the soft click of the knob turning into place once in position. The room was utterly dark, the starlight coming from outside the only illumination.  


"Almost in--I've got it--" George whispered triumphantly, pulling in the rest of his right leg. He quickly lost his balance and, in a vain struggle, and toppled onto the floor. "Ow! Bloody Hell!"  


"Shh!" Fred commanded. "We've got to keep quiet now, George. If the Dursleys catch us here, we're in for it."  


"Oh, just put a Memory Charm on them," George corrected with a dismissing wave of his hand. "Let's find something worth looking at. **Lumos**!"  


The small light on the end of George's wand lit up a majority of the kitchen as the brothers traipsed through in efforts to find some sort of evidence.  


"Cookies," George murmured happily, reaching for the oversized jar that was no doubt owned by Dudley himself. He smuggled a few of the baked goods, slipping a few to Fred.  


"No time, brother. We've got to find this--**whatever** it is--and get out of here. I'm starting to get the creeps."  


"More for me," George responded with a shrug, shoveling the cookies into his mouth merrily as they continued on towards the living room. As they entered the area, the temperature of the air seemed to drop, sending chills through both brothers upon appearance.  


"You feel that?" Fred questioned. George nodded discreetly, stopped in mid-chew. "That's ruddy cold, it is..."  


"Think they ever heard of heating?" George joked, though he knew somehow that the late spring weather could not possibly present such a chill. The boys slowed their pace slightly, beginning to feel the full force of what they could be tackling in their situation.  


"The room has been ransacked," Fred commented softly. Indeed, the living room was a complete mess of furniture, papers, wood, and glass of all sorts. Couches, tables, and armchairs of all sorts were overturned. The scattered items crunched gently beneath each step the brothers took.  


"Wild party the blokes had," George offered to ease the tension. He was well aware that he was far from correct, and fought to avoid the thoughts of what could be the true case.  


George traveled aimlessly towards the fireplace, looking absent-mindedly at the framed pictures aligned across the top, some of them cracked and broken without apparent reason why. The glass merely contributed to the mess of the room. George's eyes were on one particular frame that was hidden near the back of the lot in a crummy frame, as though present for respect but far from view in any case. The woman in the picture beside a younger Petunia possessed long, silky red hair and green eyes that seemed to light up with love. It came as a surprise to him to find that the figures in the picture remained stationary, and he hurriedly found it necessary to remind himself of the nature of Muggle artifacts.  


"George...George!" Fred whispered urgently from the other side of the dark room. George snapped out of his daze and hurried over to his brother, who was reading from a newspaper clipping, his face ashen white and his hands shaking mercilessly. George picked up the pace as he noted the distress on Fred's face and hurriedly took the clipping. It had been cut out from the paper neatly and laid gently across the coffee table, beside another.  


"What are 'obeeshuarees'?" George inquired curiously, wondering what all of Fred's fuss was about.  


"It says 'obituaries'. Remember? We learned about it in Muggle Studies...They're death notices," Fred explained slowly, his voice shaking as the words rambled from his mouth.  


"They can't be death notices," George dismissed with a carefree tone of voice, gesturing to the fifth name on the list. "They can't be, because that name right there is the Dursleys."  


Fred remained silent and looked at his brother while an unspoken understanding and comprehension was formed. George's eyes went slowly wider as he read and re-read the names, as if they had been misunderstood the first, second, and third times he scanned them. Beside the names was another page number.  


"A separate article," George urged, turning towards the coffee table at the other clipping. "Grab it."  


Fred frantically did as his brother told him, both feeling rather distressed by their new discovery. George anxiously read the article below the respective pictures of Vernon and Petunia Dursley, murmuring the text to himself.  


"Unexplained death, it says," he summarized. "They were found in the living room without any apparent injuries. Authorities are confused." The twins exchanged comprehending looks. The Muggle Authorities may have been confused as to the cause of the Dursleys' death, however, wizards knew better. Where there was unexplained deaths lacking battle wounds of any sort, there was magic somehow involved.  


"We've got to get out of here," Fred breathed, tucking the two clippings into his robe pocket with a shuddering hand. "We've got to go tell Ron and Hermione."  


"Yeah, let's go," George agreed, hoping that his heart-rate would soon return to normal. The two turned sharply, only to be stopped abruptly by the two figures that stood in the darkness before them. George could distinctly make out a pair of glowing red eyes and felt his heart jump into his throat.  


"Leaving so soon?" Voldemort rasped with a spiteful chuckle, twisting his wand carelessly between his fingers. "Wouldn't want you Weasleys to go spilling any valuable information, now."  


"We don't know anything," George stated quickly. Fred shook his head, as if to agree.  


"Now, now, don't tell lies," Voldemort scolded, slowly running the tip his wand across the pocket of Fred's robes. "What might be in here?"  


"In here?" Fred asked with a stutter, gesturing to his pocket. He allowed a split-second glance inside his pocket, and then turned back to Voldemort, chuckling nervously. "Nothing, it seems. I didn't see a thing."  


"Foolish boy!" Voldemort roared, causing his companion beside him to jump slightly in surprise. "Did I or did I not warn them not to lie to me, Wormtail?"  


"You indeed warned them, M-Master," Wormtail confirmed, his replacement hand shimmering quietly in the darkness of the room. He recoiled it back into his robes in unspoken shame. However, he quickly brought it into view again with pride; his master had presented him with that new false hand, and he should have been ready to show his gratitude.  


"My, my...Four in one week...I just cannot seem to restrain myself," Voldemort said with an airy sigh. He followed up his comment with a bone-chilling cackle that caused goose bumps to break out on the twins's arms immediately. He began to raise his wand in boredom, prepared to launch the homicidal curse. "This is almost too easy."  


"**Expelliarmus**!" George shouted with newfound bravado. The very second Voldemort's wand left his hand, he had growled, '**Wormtail**!' and his faithful servant was forward in a flash. Fred had hardly had a chance to blink with the rate of events. The wand was heading for George's out-stretched hand. However, Wormtail was too fast for him.  


"**Crucio**!"  


Fred's twin brother collapsed onto the floor in convulsions and blood-curdling screams, hardly noticing the fact that he had sliced his skin across a piece of broken glass. Wormtail caught his Master's wand and returned it respectively.  


"Thank you, Wormtail," Voldemort said with an air of casualty, beginning to advance on Fred.  


"Well, well, well...Where to start...You've caused me a great deal of trouble in only a matter of ten minutes. I think I shall toy with you for a short time..." Voldemort grinned triumphantly and murmured a fire spell underneath his breath. Fred dodged out of the way, but only just. A flame singed past his robes as he crashed to the floor, his wrist giving out in an unnatural twisted position. It occurred to him on a whim that his wisest choice would be to Disapparate. However, his brother lying nearly unconscious a few meters away caused him to double-think his escape plan. He aimed his wand high, in full preparation to kill his opponent. Voldemort smirked, seemingly only too happy to partake in such an eventful conflict. He, too, raised his wand.  


"**Avada Kedavra**!" both shouted simultaneously. The beams of light met somewhere in the middle of the pair of wands, a knot formed directly where they were connected. Fred felt the pulsating heat traveling from the light, through his wand, and into his bones. His strength was already beginning to falter, being no match for Voldemort's. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before, though he knew Harry had.  


Harry. That's who he was here for. That's who he was trying to protect. He was contributing to a good cause. For poor Harry. Fred's future brother-in-law. As he allowed his gaze to peruse the crimson-colored eyes of his enemy before him, into the depths of his amusement, he felt a sudden rage for all of Voldemort's victims. For Harry. How could any one wizard be so quick to harm so many innocent people?  


Fred began to grip his wand tighter, instinctively, through his growing anger. The knot that had been so close to the tip of his own wand was now slowly and steadily beginning to travel towards Voldemort's own. The opposite wizard looked astounded at this turn of events, concentrating even harder on his own cause. The knot began to gently glide back and forth directly in the middle, obeying to the identical rage of both wizards, confused as to where to go.  


George, through blurred vision and the pain of being kicked in his sides by Wormtail, watched half-consciously as his brother and Voldemort were engaged in a deadly lock of curses. In the back of his mind, George felt confused by the situation, for he had always thought that they only wand locks that could occur were of relative wands. However, as he noticed, it was not the same sort of bond that he had learned about from Harry and others. He felt a pang of worry for his brother but quickly forgot the majority of it as Wormtail hit him with another Cruciatus curse.  


Fred heard the screams of his brother in the background, only creating more anger in his heart towards Voldemort. He had to win this battle of curses, even if it killed him at the same time. For all of those people...All of those innocent people.  


However, he decided on another method. He found his strength was increasing in the glowing beams of light, but made a presumptuously irrational decision. He jerked his wand to the side and rolled out of the way. As the contact broke, Voldemort's spell aimlessly hit a potted plant, which immediately withered and shriveled up, its life stolen from it.  


In a rage, Voldemort began to raise his wand once more, only to be interrupted by the bright headlights of a car outside the house flooding through the windows and illuminating the room.  


"We must go, Master," Wormtail mumbled fervently.  


"Why must we? We shall kill that Muggle, as well."  


"Master, do not jeopardize yourself any more than you must. Remember, you are trying to keep a low profile with these attacks," Wormtail reminded his Lord graciously.  


Voldemort seemed to consider this with some reluctance, well-aware of his intentions to keep the attacks little-known and find Harry without his suspicions. His gaze averted to the two breathless twins lying on the ground, panting. "From now on, do not meddle in affairs that are not your own," Voldemort warned lowly, his wand pointed threateningly at Fred. Wormtail was on George, himself. He murmured a memory charm in the direction of his twin, only for Fred to roll out of the way just in time.  


"One moment, Wormtail," he snarled viciously, aiming to attempt it again. Wormtail, however, was pulling on his master's sleeve desperately.  


"There's no time, My Lord. We shall finish this another day." Voldemort had no sufficient time to protest. Wormtail's contact with his Master during his Disapparation forced Voldemort to be taken with him despite his disagreement. Fred need not assume, but knew, that Wormtail would be severely punished for his audacity.  


The twins still lay, out of breath, fumbling for their wands that had been dropped. Footsteps on the sidewalk outside could be heard as somebody approached the house.  


"Let's get out of here," George groaned, straining through the resulting pain of the Cruciatus Curse. Fred crawled over to his drained brother as the two Disapparated. _

~

  
Hermione and Ron were rendered speechless at this tale, struggling to take in the information that had thus been presented to them. Ron, for lack of anything else to do, placed a tentative hand of comfort on Hermione's arm. Her shivering could be felt through his extremities and into the nerves of his own body.  


"Bloody Hell," he murmured in disbelief.  


"Well? Where are those newspaper clippings?" Hermione pressed, never known to put her constantly working thoughts on pause.  


"Oh," Fred remembered, digging into the pockets of his robes. However, he indeed found them empty and sighed dejectedly. "They must have fallen out during the brawl," he predicted, finally ceasing to resist the utter exhaustion that overcame him. He collapsed into a chair at the table and let loose a shaky exhale. "I'm sorry we couldn't do better," he offered sincerely.  


"Oh, no," Hermione protested. "You did wonderfully. We should be the ones apologizing." She shot a glance at the King of Pride, himself. "Shouldn't we, Ron?" she urged. Much to her surprise, after a brief hesitation, Ron slowly nodded, his face grave and harboring evidence of deep thought.  


" 'Mione's right. We shouldn't have sent you. It wasn't fair of us. You had no idea what you were getting yourselves into."  


"And how," George agreed with an unintentional scoff. "I didn't plan on needing to regret not having written up a will yet."  


Fred, however, took offense. "What do you mean?" he asked, his eyes slightly narrowed. "You think that we're too dense to duke it out with You-Know-Who?"  


"Well, you've just proven that you indeed are _not_," Hermione interjected, before Ron could possibly say a word. "I believe he just means that it wasn't fair of us to send you to do a job we had arranged, ourselves."  


"I guess the most important question here," George began with a sigh of resignation, "is how are we going to tell Harry?"  


"I think you just did."  


The four looked up abruptly at the sound of the new voice. There, framed in the doorway, stood Harry Potter.  


~*~

_**

TO BE CONTINUED...

**_

~*~__

A/N: Please review with your thoughts, questions, and concerns! 


	8. The Order Of Alliance

_**

Chapter Seven: The Order Of Alliance

** _

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling, the genius herself, owns these marvelous characters and their marvelous personalities!  
**Claimer:** I own--*laughs* Oh, wait, I don't own anything! Well, I own the plot...And The Order Of Alliance"

~*~ 

_**A/N:** Hey guys, here's chapter eight of this series. I really enjoy this chapter and I see great things for this fanfiction. I hope you agree. Order Of The Phoenix is out in 5 days! Let me know what you think of my fan fiction, and what you think of the fifth novel once you've read it. Take care! _

**~MaRCiE~**

~*~ 

"Harry," rasped Hermione breathlessly, turning a vibrant shade of red at his unexpected entrance. The Boy Who Lived had a look on his face that indicated an internal struggle. Each different countenance harbored an emotion more opposite than the previous. He had gone from melancholy, to neutral, to spiteful, to apathetic and through them all once again in a matter of five seconds.  


"Mate..." began Ron apologetically, rising to his feet to face his friend and his potential hurt. He reached out to put a hand on Harry's arm in desperate attempt of comfort. The raven-haired man jerked lightly away from his fingertips, a blank sort of look on his face.  


"Say it again," he murmured, his words barely audible. Fred and George exchanged confused glances before turning back to Harry.  


"Say what again?" George inquired, the volume of his tone matching Harry's.  


"About the Dursleys," Harry continued monotonously. Fred looked down at his feet in shame; Ron knew both of his brothers well enough to guess when they felt guilty or responsible for a situation. Granted, it wasn't often, but they had their moments, as everybody did now and then.  


"They...They've..." Fred could not bring himself to finish his sentence. George opened his mouth as though to supplement Fred's beginning statement, but was rendered speechless. How _do_ you tell a friend that his relatives have died?  


Their silence spoke enough to Harry as he turned away from them. Ron struggled to read past the icy expression on his face. He knew that Harry had spent quite a few miserable years with those Muggles that called themselves his aunt and uncle; however, who _wasn't_ at least a _bit_ upset to discover that their only living relatives have passed away? Even worse was the fact that they had died because of their association with Harry, and therefore, at his hands.  


Harry Potter took in a deep breath, as if debating what action to take. At last, he turned and headed for the living room. The four remaining exchanged looks of uncertainty, considering following their distressed friend. At last, Ron rose to the occasion, shuffling past his older brothers and Hermione and through the door into the next room. Harry, with fumbling fingers, was obtaining a handful of Floo Powder from the cracked and aged flowerpot on the ledge of the fireplace.  


"Hey," began Ron sympathetically, feeling slightly uncomfortable. He had never been good with consolations. He never knew what to say. He always figured it was rather foolish, trying to relate to something you positively could not understand. "W-Where you going?"  


"To Dumbledore," Harry responded. Suddenly he looked so much older, the sparkle in his eyes fainter than normal and harboring an age beyond their years. He looked so..._tired_.  


"Want me to go with you?" Ron asked. The awkwardness in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife. However, as Harry looked up and met Ron's eyes, forcing a sad smile onto his lips, an understanding was formed. Ron tentatively smiled back faintly in sympathy.  


"Thank you, Ron," Harry whispered, shaking his head gently. "But I've got to do some things on my own. I reckon this is a good time to start."  


Ron was not quite sure what Harry was referring to, but nodded in permission as Harry tossed the powder into the fire. The flames grew and glowed a greenish hue. Harry took a deep breath. "Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office!" he declared, then threw himself into the portal. The flames glowed green for merely a moment more, in which instant Ron crazily considered jumping in after him. He hated leaving his friend defenseless, without his aid, as he merely stood idly by. He knew that Harry would never be completely _defenseless_. Not while his mother's love coursed through his veins day to day, protecting him from harm. But he could not help feeling otherwise.  


"Ron?" Hermione emerged into the room, approaching the redhead hesitantly. "Is he going to be all right?"  


Ron tried to avert his gaze to the source of the speaker, however, could not tear his eyes from the fire that returned to its original state of oranges, reds, and blues. He exhaled shakily, shaking his head that felt as though it weighed a good thousand tons. Suddenly, the exhaustion that seemed so present on Harry's face was beginning to overtake him, as well.  


"I don't know, 'Mione." He took another shuddering breath. "I just don't know."  


Hermione comfortingly encircled her arms around Ron's waist, hardly needing to lower them in their height difference. She pressed her face into his chest, trying to contain her tears. The tears that she had been desperate to cry for the past day from all of the eventful happenings. Voldemort was back. He was after Harry. He killed the Dursleys. And he was now going to *any lengths* to get to Harry and finish him off once and for all, meeting his own dark prophecy.  


After a moment of delay, Ron, too, wrapped his arms around Hermione's shoulders. They held one another like that for a period of time neither of them could measure.  


~*~

  
_THUMP!_ Harry's landing in the Headmaster's office was anything less than graceful as he emerged from the flames and collapsed onto the wooden floor.  


"Hello, Harry," spoke Dumbledore's frail voice. He was seated at his desk, as though awaiting Harry's arrival, his hands clasped sophisticatedly. "I've been expecting you."  


Harry sheepishly rose to his feet, brushing the dust from his robes. After a few moments he resigned to the effort and faced the Headmaster in plea. "Sir...May I?--" He gestured to the chair beside Dumbledore's desk. The old man smiled behind his whiskers.  


"Of course, Harry, of course."  


The man took his allowed seat, folding his hands in his lap. He wasn't sure what he was doing here. He felt as though there was nowhere else to turn. Well, in a sense, he knew what his intentions were. He just wasn't sure how to voice them.  


"You've come to express your misgivings regarding the case of the Dursleys," Dumbledore assumed, practically extracting the very thoughts from Harry's mind. Soundlessly, he nodded.  


"Where to begin," Dumbledore murmured thoughtfully, twiddling his thumbs. He rose to his feet and began pacing his office, stopping to stroke Fawkes's brilliant feathers. The magical bird cooed softly in gratitude under his touch. At last, the Headmaster turned to Harry.  


"As you may have concluded, Harry, Voldemort has, indeed, returned." Harry sighed heavily at the news of this burden, registering it for the first time by Dumbledore's own words. "He has his sights set on one goal that he plans to accomplish before his next and final downfall. Voldemort has always been one wizard notorious for not succumbing to defeat. His intentions haunt him until he fulfills his goals."  


This didn't make Harry feel much better. But he applauded Dumbledore for being straight-forward and honest, as he always had been. The man had a knack for revealing the most disconcerting information in words that made it somehow better than hearing it from another source.  


"He has struck out in Surrey, where he knows you were raised." Dumbledore's eyes seemed to harbor anything but doubt, even at this stage. "His plans are to make victims of those you have a history with, starting with those you feel most indifferent towards and ending with the ones you love dearest. Through these methods, he hopes to lure you to him and give yourself up."  


Harry closed his eyes and exhaled shakily, suppressing the dejected groan rising in his throat. Hadn't he caused enough problems in the wizarding world involving Voldemort? Hadn't enough innocent people died in the Dark Lord's attempts to reach him? Cedric...poor Cedric...Not a minute passed by each day that Harry did not think of Cedric Diggory's kind face being contorted into an expression of horror as the killing curse overcame him. And not a _day_ passed in which Harry did not feel the complete guilt eating away gradually at his insides, slowly twisting the knife in his heart. It was his fault. _All his fault._  


"Then maybe I should just turn myself in and stop his madness," Harry murmured thoughtfully, his fingernails digging into the upholstery of the armchair he was seated in. Dumbledore nodded gravely, as though foreseeing Harry's suggested solution.  


"You could very well do that, Harry, though I must admit, it shall not be as effective as you wish." Harry looked at him quizzically, urging him to proceed. "Voldemort holds a dark power of evil that neither you nor I can completely fathom, Harry. It is much like the power of good. Your mother died in your defense, transferring a protective sort of shield around you and an immunity into your blood. As this works for good magic, it can work for the bad sort, too. If Voldemort were to get you in his grasp and fulfill his prophecy, he will have conquered the strength of the love your mother had set in you. He will have won, despite her selfless sacrifice. His intentions are entirely sadistic and cruel. If you were to turn yourself in, I would be willing to assume that his power would grow stronger than ever and more innocent people would die at his hands, through this evil force."  


Harry took a moment to soak in the words Dumbledore had spoken, his breathing slightly labored in his distress. "And he would continue to kill anybody who had any association with me, as if to destroy all indications I was ever existent." Dumbledore nodded slowly, confirming Harry's predictions.  


"I assume he would, Harry."  


Harry slowly replayed the conversation he had worked through with Dumbledore just then, attempting to find a loophole. "Sir," he murmured, looking up to meet the Headmaster's eyes. "Is there not some way to stop him?"  


Dumbledore's eyes twinkled for a moment in proudness of Harry's determination. "There is, indeed, a way to quench the prophecy."  


"What is it, sir?" Harry ventured, brushing a black hair from his brow to place all concentration on the words that would next leave Dumbledore's mouth.  


"Voldemort's power is based on the struggle of good versus evil, a battle that has existed since the beginning of time. There is, indeed, a way to work against the evil force. It is called the Order of Alliance. It involves a series of complicated spells and training, but can be done. In the end, the battle must be played out between the dark force, being Voldemort, and the two components of the Order."  


"Go on," Harry urged anxiously.  


Dumbledore smiled. "The Order calls for not only heavy training, but a bond between two enemies on the same side. The trust that is established during training must hold out all through, and then last through the final battle. The Alliance must reign supreme, undying. The enemies must become one person, unable to hesitate to trust."  


"And?"  


"Another wizard has agreed, though reluctantly, to comply to the Order. And, if you consent, your training shall begin first thing tomorrow, alongside Draco Malfoy."  


~*~

_**

TO BE CONTINUED...

**_

~*~__

A/N: Please review with your thoughts, questions, and concerns 


	9. Questions And Qualms

_**

Chapter Nine: Questions And Qualms

** _

~*~

**Thank Yous:** I would like to provide my sincere gratitude for **StRaWbErRiEs AnD BlUeBeRrIeS** who has been sticking with me quite faithfully through this entire fan fiction. Your praise means more to me than you could fathom, and I enjoy reading your reviews. Please keep me in mind as you continue this fan fiction! Thank you once more. If you have instant message, IM me some time at: **BLuERoSeMaRCeLLa**. I'd be pleased to talk with you! 

~*~

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling, the genius herself, owns these marvelous characters and their marvelous personalities!  
**Claimer:** I own--*laughs* Oh, wait, I don't own anything! Well, I own the plot 

~*~ 

_**A/N:** Well, here it is: Chapter Nine. I'm not sure many people have much been enjoying this fan fiction, which is much to my dismay because I view it as one of my better works. I hope that my assumption changes in due time. Anyway...Here it is.  


Order Of The Phoenix is out in 3 days! Let me know what you think of my fan fiction, and what you think of the fifth novel once you've read it. Take care! _

**~MaRCiE~**

~*~ 

Harry paused, perusing the look on Dumbledore's face for a trace of trickery. Surely the elderly wizard was making a bad attempt at a joke. Truth be told, if he was pursuing humor, it would be recommended that he take a leaf from the Weasley twins's book as a start.  


"I'm sorry, sir, can you repeat that?" Harry sputtered, shaking his head as if to rid the entire statement away from his memory. Dumbledore's eyes merely twinkled with more vigor as he nodded understandingly.  


"Draco Malfoy, Mr. Potter," he repeated happily. Harry's mouth fell open, aghast. Draco Malfoy. Bouncing Ferret Boy. Harry would surely rather consent to a tea party with Voldemort sooner than he would be willing to work alongside Draco Malfoy for a cause that was built on a foundation of pure trust.  


"Sir...I'm not sure...I don't believe..." Harry began, however was unable to uncover the proper words to describe this dilemma without sounding rude or irrationally stubborn. He took a deep breath, swallowed, and began again. "I don't think we can get along well enough for this Order, Professor. I...reckon it's impossible."  


At this point, even Fawkes had turned towards Harry, a glint in his eyes that indicated his faith in the Alliance. By now, Harry was sweating bullets. Okay, so, here were the two choices on his menu of fate: a hearty helping of maniac torture with a side of ripe death, accompanied by a tall glass of misery for his friends. On the other hand was a Hellish salad with a lovely cup of Draco's dripping sarcasm juice. And to top it off, a waste of time and losing streak for dessert. His options were none too appetizing.  


"Harry," Dumbledore began calmly, resuming his seat at his Headmaster's desk and thumbing through a small pile of papers. "As you have continued to learn every waking day since your eleventh birthday, _nothing_ is impossible. When opportunity knocks we answer the door, we do not make him stand out in the rain, no matter how foolish the notion of allowing its entrance may be at the time. Through strength and faith, Mr. Potter, you will find that Mr. Malfoy and yourself are quite capable of forming a promising team." Harry was rendered speechless at Dumbledore's statement, so the elderly Headmaster continued with hardly a moment's hesitation. "I believe you have come to know me well enough to have discovered that I do not subject my students and friends to unrealistic tasks."  


Harry knew, quite well, as Dumbledore had predicted, that the elder wizard had never wasted his breath on an unattainable goal. Dumbledore's intentions were always stabilized with a sturdy sense of logic.  


"Mr. Malfoy has already committed himself to the task," Dumbledore continued, sliding a piece of official-looking parchment in Harry's direction. Sure enough, Draco Malfoy's signature was scrawled across the bottom line, below a blank space which Harry could only assume was meant for his own identified name.  


He looked up questioningly at Dumbledore. There were so many questions he was urged to ask. How did Dumbledore know about the Dursleys' case before Harry had hardly swallowed the news? How did he foresee Harry's request for a method to quench Voldemort's powers? Was the hokey pokey _really_ what it was all about? ((_**A/N:** Sorry, couldn't resist._)) But at last, he settled for the one question plaguing his mind most powerfully.  


"How did you ever convince Malfoy to sign on?"  


Dumbledore offered an all-knowing smile, straightening the half-moon spectacles that rested atop the bridge of his long trade-marked nose. "That, my friend, shall be revealed in due time." He flicked his eyes towards the parchment and quill. "Sign the agreement, Mr. Potter, and the training shall begin tomorrow. Decline, and...Well, I suppose we shall meet a different fate."  


Harry stared at the blank line soundlessly. Draco's signature, even though just represented by letters on paper, still seemed to reflect the same snide attitude that he carried on every facial expression he had ever harbored. He could not work under those conditions. He could already picture Malfoy crudely rolling his eyes in exasperation, taunting him, ridiculing his wizarding tactics. Small, stupid things. Such as the way he held his wand. It was inevitably Draco, and inevitably probable.  


"Sir," Harry started slowly, fingering the feather of the quill in hesitation. "Might I discuss this matter with a friend, and then make my decision?"  


The corners of Dumbledore's lips traveled upward ever-so-slightly as he tilted his head forward to peer over his spectacles in Harry's direction. "Very well. I'm afraid, however, that time is short. I shall be in need of your answer within the next half of an hour. Is that a sufficient allotment?"  


"Plenty," Harry agreed thankfully, rising to his feet and finally feeling capable of taking his first breath of relief since he had stepped foot into his office. As opposed to returning to the fireplace, he approached the door to Dumbledore's office.  


"Who might you be seeking counsel from, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore inquired.  


"Sirius Black," Harry replied. "My Godfather. Where might I find him?"  


"Presumably in his temporary classroom. He's been up quite late each night with the stack of work Professor Granger had left for him," Dumbledore offered with a weak attempt to suppress his smile. Harry provided a knowing smile in return. And with that, he left the room and headed into the semi-dark Hogwarts corridor, illuminated merely by the firelight of the torches lined along the stone walls of the castle. In a brisk stride, he hurried towards the old Transfiguration office.  


His quick pace was met with the least expected (and most unpleasant) interruption imaginable. For Severus Snape had just emerged from a nearby corner, nearly colliding into Harry. The look that crossed his face was one of pure disgust and loathing, as though he had just been told his services were needed to wash Dobby's plethora of socks.  


Harry would have taken the delicate time to carefully create an all new facial expression to express his equal hatred of the Potions master, had he not been in such a great hurry. As he made an attempt to continue on his way as though their meeting had never happened, Snape sidestepped the man, lodged directly in his pathway.  


"Potter," he spat, as though he had just spoken a foul word. "Might I inquire as to what on Earth a young celebrity like yourself is doing wandering Hogwarts in the late hours of the night?"  


"No," Harry spoke bravely. He had no reason to feel intimidated by the Hogwarts teacher any longer, for his proper punishment was now out of Snape's hands. The most the professor could do in retaliation was to jump to his own defense.  


Snape's expression became all the more sour, if at all possible, in light of Harry's response. "Do not neglect to answer my question, Potter," he warned, his robes swishing in rage.  


"Not like you can take any house points from me, or hand me a lousy detention," Harry countered, moving to his side once more to pass through as Snape's nostrils flared dangerously. "If you don't mind too terribly much, I'm in a bit of a hurry, so it would be deeply appreciated if you continued where you were going as if this never happened."  


"Is the Headmaster aware of your presence in the castle?" Snape demanded, as though he expected an answer that could possibly contribute to his vendetta against his least favorite student in history.  


"Do you think I'm thick?" Harry questioned in annoyance. "Move aside, Snape, I've got business to attend to."  


"Would Albus be shocked to find that you're roaming the castle corridors at this hour?" Snape continued, ignoring Harry's request. At last, resigning to all stresses of the evening and reservations about current events, Harry cracked.  


"I've had enough stupidity today to last me a lifetime!" he sneered, feeling the blood rushing through his veins in his fit of adrenaline. "I don't have time for your bloody grudges or your threats. I've got a life or death decision to make and only twenty-five minutes to make it in. If you don't kindly step aside, I may never get the chance to make this decision, and as an end result, you and any family you may have might soon be dead. So if you would _please_ just step out of my way and continue with your own business, I shall do the same."  


Snape was rendered speechless at Harry's outburst. Though he did not comply to Harry's request, he did not make a repeated effort to prevent his passing. Harry, fuming so badly that he swore steam was emerging from his ears, continued on his way.  


At last he reached the door to the Transfiguration classroom, sure enough observing that a light was still burning brightly inside. He could hear Sirius muttering to himself. He would have smiled at this typical nature, had he not been so overwhelmed. Tentatively, he raised a fist and rapped his knuckles against the wood. Sirius's muttering abruptly ceased, and Harry made the presumption that he was wondering who in the name of Merlin would be knocking on the classroom door at such a late hour. Footsteps resounded through the room and echoed gently in Harry's ears in a rhythmic pattern as Padfoot reached the door and opened it, allowing the light to flood out into the hallway. Harry squinted his eyes lightly at this new illumination.  


Sirius looked stunned at the sight of his visitor. After all, it had been a fair few months since he and Harry had spoken in person.  


"Harry," he breathed. "Whatever are you doing here?"  


Harry inhaled sharply and released the breath once more in a vain attempt to calm his nerves. "Sirius...I have something very important to ask you."  


~*~

_**

TO BE CONTINUED...

**_

~*~__

A/N: Please review with your thoughts, questions, and concerns 


	10. On The Same Page

_**

Chapter Ten: On The Same Page

** _

~*~

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling, the genius herself, owns these marvelous characters and their marvelous personalities!  
**Claimer:** I own--*laughs* Oh, wait, I don't own anything! Well, I own the plot. 

~*~ 

_**A/N:** Oh my goodness, guys...I'm sorry, it HAS been a while. I'm not sure you missed me too much, but nonetheless, I do send my deepest apologies. Order Of The Phoenix somewhat distracted me from this story, though it spurred inspiration for two new short stories which I suggest you check out: Your Secret's Safe With Me and What Is Real, Or Just A Dream. I think they both turned out quite well, and I think you all would enjoy them. So please, check them out :-) So here it is...FINALLY...Chapter Ten of this fan fiction. The scene with Dudley was quite hard to write but I think it turned out exceptionally well. Please send me feedback!  


**~MaRCiE~** _

~*~ 

The night surged on, though seemingly in hesitation. The dawn crept closer and closer, taking ages to arrive. It was the most painstakingly long night in the history of Ron's entire life as he, Fred, George, and Hermione stood idly by, expecting Harry's abrupt return. Their wishes were in vain, however, as the sky grew darker and the hours grew longer and yet the Floo Network remained inactive.  


"Should we go in after him?" George suggested at one point after filling up on some blueberry pie to calm his nerves from the Cruciatus Curse.  


Ron opened his mouth to agree, but Hermione beat him to the response. "I don't think he'd like that very much," she explained. "He and Dumbledore need to have a very serious talk."  


The twins and Ron decided that this was a good idea, at last, and once again fell silent with worry, seated around the kitchen table, just waiting for Harry to return safe and sound.  


The Weasley clan soon traipsed back inside too tired to make inquiries about Harry's location. Even a yawning Ginny accepted the mild answer that Harry was taking care of some business, which was realistically the truth. That left Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George to sit in the living room, gazing into the fire expectantly, as though Harry's face would appear at any moment and comfort their worries.  


At last, once Fred had nodded off and fallen off the sofa, nearly hitting his head on an end table, Hermione hurried the twins to bed, insisting that staying up late waiting for Harry would do them no good. She then took her own advice and decided to head up to bed, leaving Ron sitting alone by the fire, thinking about the events of the night.  


He felt selfish for being so occupied with his and Hermione's grudge for so long, when there were bigger things at stake. Like the lives of Harry's family. The life of _Harry_. The guilt was beginning to eat away at him as he stared into the fire, taking in the dancing flames of orange and red and yellow and blue, lapping hungrily at the air, awaiting their feeding of Harry's emerge.  


As the clock struck 3:30 A.M., small footsteps were heard tiptoeing down the staircase. Ron looked up curiously to see who was unable to sleep, like himself. To his delight, there stood Hermione, her bushy hair disheveled as though she had been tossing and turning mercilessly as she attempted to rest.  


"Ron, do get some sleep," she advised gently, walking over to him and taking a seat next to him on the sofa. "You've been awake all night waiting. I'll wait now. You get some rest."  


"I can't, 'Mione," he whispered, sporting his nickname for her. She shivered slightly at this pet name that always sent chills up her spine. The good kind, that is. "I can't. I feel awful. I feel like I could have helped him if I hadn't been acting so ruddy _stupid_."  


"There's nothing you could have done," Hermione reassured, slipping her arm through his and resting her head on his shoulder. The position just felt normal; and she was aware that he agreed on that as he gently put his head on hers. "You could not have stopped this any more than Dumbledore could have. It's not your fault. And you're not stupid."  


He chuckled slightly, eyes on the fire, lips forming a ghost of a smile. "It just makes me feel like a prat, that I've been so worried about trivial things—While Harry's life is at stake."  


"I know, I know," Hermione comforted, bringing her feet up underneath her on the couch and curling up to him. "The best thing we can do to make up for it, though, is to be there for him now, when he needs us most."  


"The bloke goes through enough," Ron protested gently. "He lost his parents…Had to live with the ruddy Dursleys. Probably feels a million types of guilty now that they're dead. I mean, I wouldn't, I'd be grateful that I didn't have to put up with them anymore—"  


"Ron!" Hermione chastised, though it was in a calmer tone than usual.  


"—And the way they treated me…But not Harry…He's a good man. Good man. I reckon he's beating himself up right about now for not opening up to them more, or something ridiculous like that."  


"Yeah. He's a good man," Hermione agreed, gazing into the fire along with her companion. Her own words repeated in her mind. Harry is a good man. She recollected Rita Skeeter's articles back in their fourth year at Hogwarts. Primarily the one that exploited and rumored Harry and Hermione as a "couple." Hermione scrunched her brow slightly as she vaguely wondered why she was never attracted to Harry.  


_Easy_, the other end of her mind answered abruptly. _It's because you're smitten with dashing red heads that don't know their own bravery_.  


She gasped slightly, shocking even herself with this thought.  


" 'Mione? You okay?" Ron questioned, looking down at her in concern.  


"What? Oh…Yes…just worried, as you are," she bluffed.  


Ron's eyes lingered on hers for a moment more before returning to his involvement with the flames. Hermione was silently grateful that he had averted his gaze, not at all willing to repeat her thoughts aloud for him.  


"I hope he's okay," Ron spoke at last after a few minutes of silence.  


"He's all right," Hermione reassured, unconsciously nuzzling her nose in his neck. She distinctly felt as goose pimples popped up across his skin and smiled slightly to herself in triumph. "He'll be back before you know it," she added, feeling the drowsiness beginning to dominate her senses once more.  


"Yeah," Ron breathed, his eyelids beginning to droop shut gradually as his guilt ebbed away and sleep began to overtake him. He opened his mouth wide to let loose a yawn. "Before we know it..."  


~*~

  
Sirius continued to look down at his godson, taking in all the emotions that were plaguing his normally joyous features. Hesitant tears seemed to be forming in the corners of Harry's inherited green eyes, shining behind the rims of his glasses as he forced them to remain stationary. Without even needing to make an inquiry, Sirius knew already that the matter was of seriousness, not to be taken light-heartedly.  


"Of course, of course, come on in," he allowed, opening the door to its entire width to welcome Harry inside. The last remaining Potter took slow steps into the room, taking in the surroundings. Had he been in lighter spirits, he would have smirked at the very sight of the condition. Sirius had turned Hermione's Transfiguration classroom upside-down; she would have a fit in fury of his teaching techniques.  


"Harry," Sirius ventured, knocking his godson from his reverie. "What is it?"  


Harry looked up into the eyes of his father's best friend, seeing his dark irises shining with sympathy and worry in his direction. He felt immediately guilty for calling at such a late hour, but knew his time was limited. He lowered himself into a desk in the front row, reminiscing about the days in which Hermione would be eager to obtain such a seat. Sirius leaned against the professor's desk in anticipation, waiting for the story to unfold. At last, with a deep breath, Harry felt ready.  


"The Dursleys have been killed," he confessed, his voice entirely neutral and free of emotion. Sirius's mouth dropped open, much to Harry's surprise; he figured that Dumbledore had alerted Sirius of the news straight away.  


"You're joking," Sirius muttered in shock. Harry found it predictable that Sirius reacted in a similar fashion as himself. Both had despised the Dursleys for so many years…and now did not know how to respond to such news.  


Harry shook his head. "No. They're…dead."  


"What exactly happened?" Sirius asked, finally closing the gaping hole his mouth had previously been.  


Harry rubbed his forehead, unwilling to explain the tale once more. "Voldemort," he uttered, figuring it was enough explanation.  


Sirius nearly dropped his wand in shock. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back? Searching for you again?"  


Harry took Sirius's lack of knowledge to mean that he no longer read _The Prophet_, feeling a certain bitterness toward it after all the years of exploiting him.  


"Yes," Harry expressed with an almighty sigh, taking his glasses off to rub his aching eyes, feeling the exhaustion pressing down upon him. "They've known it for ages and kept it from me…They sent Fred and George to investigate. Without even asking me first." At last, all the multitudinous and unsorted emotions were beginning to erupt at once from Harry's soul. Why _hadn't_ Ron and Hermione confronted him about the matter straight away? Didn't he have a right to know when he was the target yet again? And Dumbledore…Why hadn't he said anything in the first place? Why did everyone hush up around him, afraid to let him see his own fate? He felt a million versions of hurt at the moment. He felt guilty for the Dursleys' demise, betrayed by Ron and Hermione's secrecy, frustrated with the ultimatum presented to him by Dumbledore, and bitter about Sirius's current ignorance.  


"They only wanted to protect you. That's what friends do," Sirius expressed. Harry sighed.  


"I suppose…"  


Sirius seemed to still be in consideration over Harry's announcement, unable to swallow all the information in one gulp. "Dursleys killed…I can't—There isn't—How—All three of them?" Sirius stuttered.  


Harry paused, recalling for the first time the actual content of Fred and George's tale. "As a matter of fact…They didn't bring Dudley up at all…I believe he moved out of Number Four last year…"  


"Surprised the fat spoiled little git doesn't still live at home," Sirius muttered to himself. He recovered his fatherly role immediately, however. "So he's still alive?"  


Harry nodded slowly, wondering how he had not been able to take note of this before. This changed quite a few pieces to the puzzle. If Dudley was still alive, he could provide some insight on the Dursley life before the attack and whether anything suspicious had arisen prior to their deaths. If he had any desire to speak to a wizard after the whole ordeal, that is.  


And the most important matter at hand, still, was the Order Of Alliance.  


"Voldemort is tracing everything about me, starting with my childhood," Harry explained. "He's trying to get me to turn myself into him, to fulfill his prophecy. He's so powerful now that Dumbledore says that the only way to quench his powers is to do him in…for good. But the only way to perform such a spell and have it work is through the Order Of Alliance."  


A light bulb seemed to go off in Sirius's head as his face lit up in recognition. "Order Of Alliance…I remember studying that," he admitted. "Dumbledore proposed it to James once, suggesting that he partner with Snape to kill off You-Know-Who."  


"Really?" Harry asked in disbelief. "My father?"  


"Yeah…James was all for it, but Snape wouldn't have a thing to do with it. I reckon it still makes him feel guilty now and then, because whenever anything about the Alliance comes up, he gets all quiet and moody and starts yelling about something new."  


Harry wordlessly took in this lot of new information, feeling as though his brain was close to exploding. "So…Voldemort could have been stopped a long time ago?"  


Sirius paused but then nodded in affirmation. "Yes, I suppose so. Had the Alliance gone through all necessary steps and all."  


It was all coming into place. _That_ was part of the reason that Snape was trying to hard to redeem himself in this war. He was well aware that he could have helped to stop the Dark Lord years ago, and upon missing the opportunity, subjected hundreds of people to death and torture. Served him right, Harry supposed, ignoring a perfectly logical proposition to kill the most evil wizard who ever walked the Earth.  


"Dumbledore says Malfoy's already consented…he signed the papers and everything," Harry said softly, feeling even more pressure bearing down upon him to complete this task. "I just don't know if I can _do_ it…"  


"Harry," Sirius began supportively, walking over to his godson and kneeling down to look the sitting man in the eye. "You can do absolutely _anything_ you put your mind to. If you tell _yourself_ you can do this, you can do it. You're just like your Father; you're both strong of heart and mind and can meet a challenge when presented to you. If Malfoy has agreed, then I say full speed ahead. Don't make the same mistake that Snape did, Harry; don't decline the opportunity to defend your people and stop the terrors that haunt them. Not for their sake, but for yours. I know you'll never forgive yourself if you don't do it."  


Harry listened carefully to all the words Sirius had spoken. He was well aware that his father's best friend was entirely right, having meticulously chosen the elements of his speech with care, as though having rehearsed it times before. And he was also right in the fact that Harry _would_ never forgive himself if he did not accept this offer. The chance to break Voldemort and all his powers and allow not only the Wizarding world, but the Muggle World too, to live in peace once more.  


He had made his decision.  


~*~

Harry returned to the Burrow quite late that night, only minutes before the rising of the sun. Collapsing on the carpet at the foot of the fireplace, he observed two people positioned on the sofa, overcome with exhaustion. Tiptoeing softly past Ron and Hermione, Harry attempted to head for the staircase, hoping that he had not awoken any others with his noisy entrance. However his best friend began to stir, opening his eyes slightly, only half awake.  


"Harry?" he muttered, barely moving his lips. "What happened, Mate?"  


As Harry watched the flames of the fire play tricks across Ron's freckled face, he felt the balloon of gratitude inside his soul, knowing that Ron and Hermione's relation in location to the fire matched that of their concern.  


"I'll tell you in the morning. Go back to sleep, Ron."  


The red head didn't need to be told twice, for he had been dozing off once more before Harry had even completed his sentence. The Potter smiled softly at this and continued on his way.  


He ascended the steps to the bright orange bedroom, throwing his body onto the mattress without even changing into the proper pajamas. Not that it mattered much at all, for he was asleep before his head made contact with the feather pillow.  


~*~

  
The next morning proved a restless sleep from the night before for a number of those at The Burrow. As the sunshine poured through the living room windows, Ron awoke suddenly to the pain of an uncomfortable crick in the neck. Taking a few moments to gather his thoughts and remember why he wasn't in bed, the events of the previous night came back like a flood, his mind beginning to recall every intricate detail. He sighed miserably, leaning back against the sofa once more and for the first time since he had awoken, feeling the strange warmth beside him of another human body.  


Looking down at the woman cuddled against his side, head nestled into his chest, Ron's weariness delayed the acknowledgement of her identity. At last he yawned, making the decision of whether to wake her or not. He figured that even if he happened to gently move her so he could stand up, she would awake anyway. She had always been an incredibly light sleeper.  


"Hermione," he whispered, nudging her gently. She scrunched her nose slightly and emitted a sleepy groan with which Ron sympathized entirely. "Hermione…wake up, darling, it's morning."  


Hermione made yet another audible noise in the event of this unwanted disturbance, but resignedly opened her eyes. It took her, too, a moment to register her surroundings.  


"Where's Harry?" was her first question as she immediately sat up, her curly hair all frizzy and puffed out on the one side of her head which had been resting against Ron. "What happened? Is he okay? Did you talk to him?"  


"One question at a time, 'Mione," Ron yawned, forcing himself to rise to his feet. "No, I didn't talk to him…therefore I can't answer the rest of your questions," he explained, not recalling his temporary awakening the previous night.  


"Should we go talk to him?" Hermione pressed, chewing on her fingernails in worry. Ron gently took her hand away from her mouth, clutching her cold fingers in his to prevent her from giving into her nervous habit.  


"Let him sleep, 'Mione…I'm sure he had a rough night."  


"I'm awake," came a voice from the staircase. Both turned in time to see Harry coming down the steps, looking an overall mess. His hair, though normally quite untidy, seemed to be sticking up even more than normal. His eyes were red and puffy, as though sore from lack of sleep. His robes, too, were disheveled and wrinkled in carelessness, having obviously been slept in.  


"Oh, Harry," Hermione cooed, rushing into his arms and embracing him in a tight hug. "We were so worried…What happened? Did you talk with Dumbledore?"  


As she pulled back, Harry took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. It's a very long story, though, I'm afraid, and I have an—er—errand to run beforehand."  


"What time is it, Mate?" Ron asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as Harry consulted his watch.  


"Ten thirty. I only slept for about five hours…There's been a bit on my mind and—" Harry paused, thinking twice about finishing his sentence as he observed twin looks of concern on both his friends' faces. If he mentioned a single word about the nightmares he had had, both would jump to the conclusion that Voldemort was nearby and prepared to strike. So he just left the sentence hanging, too exhausted to think of another comment to finish it with, brushing his hair away from his forehead in vain. "There's just a lot to be done today."  


"Tell us later?" Hermione asked softly, still clutching onto Harry's hands protectively. He nodded and planted a kiss on top of her head, feeling again the sibling sort of connection and concern for his best female friend.  


"Yes, we'll discuss everything later and I'll tell you the entire story. I promise."  


"All right…go do what you need to do, Harry. What do you want us to tell Gin?" Ron inquired.  


"Tell her the truth. Just not all of it," Harry decided. Ron smiled as he saw the faint twinkle of mischief in Harry's eyes. "I'll be back as soon as I can…and I promise, you'll know all the details before anyone else." And with that, he Disapparated.  


"It must have gone well," Ron offered, trying not only to reassure Hermione but himself, as well. Her bottom lip trembled and she resumed her seat on the couch once more.  


"I hope you're right, Ron…Oh, poor Harry…I hope you're right…"  


~*~

  
One place Harry never thought he'd have to go was the one in which he was headed to at this very moment, having located its destination in the phonebook, ascending the porch steps. The place wasn't too bad looking, seeing as the occupant did not pay for it himself in any case. Harry knew the inside, however, would be no match for its outer appearance of beauty.  


So with a brave, but trembling hand, he pressed his finger into the doorbell and waited for what seemed like an eternity. Seconds seemed like hours until the door finally opened, revealing someone Harry had not seen for nearly three or four years.  


It was possibly the most awkward situation Harry had ever partaken in. He found it somewhat comical, really, to consider the location in which he found himself, despite the tragic circumstances. Years prior he would have laughed at anyone who told him he'd willingly visit his gluttonous cousin someday. And here he was, standing on the doorstep, wishing he had a knife to cut the thick uncomfortable silence with. Dudley seemed to be thinking the same as he peered at his cousin suspiciously, wondering, too, why after years of torture the boy would return to the instigator.  


"May I…come in?" Harry ventured, unsure of whether or not his question was too forward. Watching Dudley's depressed beady eyes, he saw that he, too, was contemplating this matter. After a few moments of consideration, he nodded slowly and stepped back into the house, opening the door to its full width, allowing Harry to enter.  


The sight didn't surprise Harry in the least as he stepped into the foyer and immediately noted empty pizza boxes and piles of dishes lining all tables in view. For nearly twenty years Dudley had not had to lift a finger to support himself, relying entirely on his parents to provide all his necessary items and services. This included cleaning up after every mess he made; and now that he was on his own, he had not developed the habit of housework yet.  


"Sorry," he muttered almost inaudibly, scrambling around the dining room table to pick up the fly-surrounded items and disposing of them. In any other case, Harry may have laughed as he watched Dudley toss a few porcelain dishes in the garbage rather than the sink, no doubt too lazy to bother with washing them. He then brushed all papers aside onto the floor carelessly, pointing to the cleanest chair of the bunch for Harry to seat himself at.  


"Thank you," Harry responded politely, hesitantly lowering himself into the chair, double and triple checking for anything that may stain the back of his Muggle clothing. Dudley, too, took a seat across the table from Harry at an apparent loss for words. And there, within those few moments of awkward silence, Harry realized for the first time in his entire life that Dudley, too, was human. He had emotions upon emotions, which he had never shown to Harry unless the current one of the time was anger. The last remaining Dursley had just suffered the most severe loss imaginable and was now unsure of how to deal with his feelings. In reality, Dudley had never technically had a single moment of despair throughout his entire childhood. All that could be recalled were times of happiness and love; something that Harry had waited ten long years to obtain following his parents' death. But now Dudley was in the same boat as him, which by the look of grief on his face, he was well aware of. He had always given Harry a hard time over the loss of his parents, apathetically ignorant to such a tragedy. And now he was experiencing the very same thing, ashamed to show recognition of it in full wariness that Harry was entitled to an apology.  


"Why are you here?" he asked at last; his tone of voice harbored neither spite nor bitterness. The only detectable emotion was pure confusion. So Harry took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and found his voice.  


"I heard what happened," he admitted. "I'm afraid I didn't find out until just last night, otherwise I would have come sooner. My friends…well, they decided to keep it a secret from me, afraid of how I may react and feel."  


"Well…" Dudley began slowly, as if uncertain of wanting to hear the response, "how _do_ you feel?"  


"I'm not sure," Harry expressed honestly. "Truthfully, living at Number Four Privet Drive never felt like home to me…It was _your_ home, _your_ sanctuary. I was unwelcome there for sixteen straight years of my life. It's somewhat hard to miss something you never had." Dudley nodded, seeming to understand and accept Harry's answer. "However…I know that their death was my fault…and _that_ makes me feel horrible."  


"Your fault?" Dudley asked suspiciously. "How was it your fault?"  


Harry sighed, tentative of Dudley's reaction to the explanation. "I trust you remember Voldemort?"  


A vague look of acknowledgement appeared on the piggy face of Harry's host, however he still remained thoughtful. "One of _your_ kind, I take it?" he asked. The effort to make the comment spiteful was apparent, however, weak. His spirit was far too shattered to do much damage to another's.  


"The wizard that killed my parents," Harry continued, taking no offense to Dudley's attempted inquiry of harshness. "He's come back for me…he's taking every step from my childhood up until now in efforts to track me down. And he started at Number Four. And he'll continue through all the motions until he finds me and fulfills his stupid prophecy."  


Dudley's face blanched in horror, though he attempted to hide his fear. "I knew their death had to do with…with…_you_, but I wasn't sure how. Why would your little evil friend come to _our_ house and kill _my_ parents? They didn't even _like_ you, how does that help what's-his-name harm _you_?" Now the bitterness in his voice was surely detectable, trying to hate Harry with everything he had left. His cousin was the only person he could directly post the blame on.  


"I'm sorry," Harry uttered, fully prepared for Dudley's anger. He raked his hands through his ebony hair in frustration, trying to calm his nerves. "Had I known of his plans, maybe I would have been able to stop—"  


"But you wouldn't have."  


"What?"  


Dudley shook his head, his disgustingly blond hair ruffling in waves with the motion. "You wouldn't have bothered to _stop_ him. You _hated_ them, you probably would have helped him to kill them. In fact, you probably _did_."  


"I'm here right now, aren't I?" Harry demanded, feeling his temper beginning to get the better of him. He attempted to push down the lump forming in his throat, feeling spiteful towards the entire world. "You don't even know me, Dudley. Sixteen years under the same roof and you never once gave me a chance. All you did was push me around and make my life miserable. Imagine the tables turned, Dudley. Imagine if _your_ parents had died first, and mine were still alive. And you were placed on _our_ doorstep, and either ignored or ordered around for over half your life. What would you do in that position?"  


"I wouldn't put up with anyone's rubbish," Dudley spat.  


"Exactly," Harry agreed. "And did I once complain to you about anything that went on at that house? No. I was grateful to have a home to _go_ to. And that was it. I could have loved your parents…all they had to do was love me first," Harry finished, his voice now reduced to a murmur. He watched the wheels turning in Dudley's head, then collapsed in exhaustion, resting his head on his arms, face down on the tabletop.  


"This is so much to take in at once," Dudley said neutrally after another pregnant pause. "I had never thought of it from your point of view. I guess I maybe should have a long time ago."  


Harry lifted his head, amazed at the words escaping from Dudley's mouth. It occurred to him that his parents' death must have instilled some form of maturity in his heart, some form of sympathy for those around him. For never in a million years under the roof of Number Four Privet Drive would Dudley have ever admitted he was wrong.  


"I guess we're on the same page now, huh?" Dudley added. "With our parents and all."  


"I suppose we are," Harry agreed. And with a sad smile of understanding present on both faces, and the bond formed between long-time enemies, Harry knew that the Order Of Alliance could be entirely possible to execute.  


"Now," he decided, "the next matter at hand is Voldemort's next victim. Anyone at all that I'm in contact with is susceptible to this danger, including you."  


Again Dudley's face paled, though he put on a brave façade. "Okay…So how do we solve this? I'm not much in the mood to die."  


Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at Dudley's way with words, and instead launched into the proper explanation. "I can protect you, but it will require magic. So it's entirely up to you."  


Dudley scrunched his nose slightly, as though considering this proposition. "Can't I just go into the Witness Protection Program or something?" he asked hopefully, eager to find an alternative to any use of Harry's alleged abnormal powers.  


"The Witness Protection Program can't protect you from evil wizards, Dudley," Harry countered. "The only way to do it is with magic."  


Dudley sighed in resignation, although finally weighed his options, deciding that magical protection was a better alternative to death. "Fine…how does it work?"  


"Well, it's called the Fidelius Charm…now, Dumbledore said it would work for Mug—er, normal people such as yourself, as long as they had blood relation to the wizard casting the spell. Now, this will mark you as untraceable to Voldemort and any of his followers, as long as I don't tell your whereabouts."  


"You wouldn't, would you? Under pain of death?" Dudley inquired fearfully. Harry might have laughed at the look on Dudley's face had it not been such a serious matter.  


"On my honor, I won't say a word," Harry promised. Dudley seemed to turn this over in his mind, then extended a hesitant, shaky palm.  


"Deal."  


Harry accepted and shook Dudley's hand. "Deal." 

**TO BE CONTINUED **


	11. As If Nothing Were Wrong

_**Chapter Eleven: As If Nothing Were Wrong**_

**Disclaimer:** JK Rowling, the genius herself, owns these marvelous characters and their marvelous personalities!  
**Claimer:** I own--laughs Oh, wait, I don't own anything! Well, I own the plot.

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_**A/N:** My, my, my…When was the last time I updated this story? Quickly after the release of OOTP? I feel like a traitor. To my loyal readers I am so sorry to keep you waiting. It is long from finished, but I hope to pick up the pen again, so to speak, and finish what I've begun. You have all been so wonderful and I hope to draw back my previous readers and perhaps engage some new ones as well. I hope you enjoy this installment. Forgive me if I seem to be losing my grip—I'm a bit rusty.  
**MaRCiE**_

-

The sunlight poured through the glass window of the female's bedroom on the second floor, hindered only by miniscule dust particles that clung to the fibers. A new and sudden warmth that could in no way be present during the peak hours of the night was suddenly absorbed by the lavender comforter, causing a slight stir in Ginny Weasley as, simultaneously, the sunbeams fought to break the barriers that were her eyelids. The sun begged her to awake and meet the day, just as it had begun to do, itself, urging all others to appreciate the beauty that was a sunrise.

The red-headed woman slowly opened her eyes, paying heed to the gentle though calming throbbing that her eyes underwent as her pupils adjusted to the new intake. She yawned loudly, uncurling from her fetal position and stretching far and wide across the bed, pleased to feel the cool pearl-colored sheets across her bare legs. There was nothing like the cold underside of the pillow or the dormant side of the bed on a spring morning as the season neared its gradual transition into summer.

Rolling over onto her back, her cherry curls unfurled in ringlets around her head, strongly resembling a halo as she stretched once more on her backside, staring at the lilac-colored ceiling that matched her bed-spread. And in spite of herself, she failed to suppress a grin. Just as she had done every morning since her and Harry's life-changing conversation not long ago, she delighted in the butterflies fluttering amongst her insides at the notion of being Mrs. Harry Potter. If she had been told eight or nine years ago that she would soon be making love in wizarding matrimony to the man of her dreams, she would have perhaps fainted of embarrassment, silently wishing that there was truth to the rumor.

And yet, here she was—a young woman looking quickly upon her wedding day. And with all the built-up excitement, she choked out a squeal of pure mirth, leaping from the bed and running to her vanity mirror, comforted by the warm carpet on her bare heels. Approaching her reflection she allowed her smile to spread wider than before, giving a short runway-reminiscent twirl, looking over her shoulder at herself. She had recently begun to truly feel beautiful in light of her prospective future. Her hair seemed sleeker, her body felt sexier, and her skin glowed brighter as though a thousand light bulbs had turned on all at once in a fashionable glow.

She admired her figure appreciatively, her shapely hips donned in a pair of purple and white pin-striped shorts and her ever-growing voluptuous bosom hiding beneath her cream-colored tank top. There she was—the woman that Harry Potter had chosen as his bride. Her excitement was entirely negligent of his fame, however—she was head over heels in love with him, The Boy Who Lived or not. And she found herself growing impatient in waiting for the day that they would soon be joined together. Still goggling in shock at her long legs, she giggled slightly at the thought of their wedding night and marveled in the idea that Harry's chin would drop and he would be unable to resist her. She would be able to sleep in his arms each night, sharing the warmth of another soul. The cooled side of the bed seemed hardly a treasure compared with the notion of its emptiness filled with her loved one.

And yet, it all seemed too far away. Her heart yearned for the permanence of being his one and only, a comfort to be met by the ceremony itself.

It seemed hard to believe that only a mere few days ago she was sitting on the picnic table, her imagination running away with her at the thought of Voldemort attacking. Perhaps it was her naïve child-like persona taking over from true denial, but in her conscious state of mind she hardly paid another thought to the conversation that had taken place what seemed like so long ago. It was a shadow of a worry buried deep within her mind—she had all but forgotten it entirely.

Pulling on a knee-length black skirt she completed her bride-to-be dance with one final spin, swiftly grabbing her wand from the counter-top of the vanity. Today she and Hermione would go dress shopping—and she would need her magic to permit Hermione's exit for a couple of hours.

And with one final sigh of content, the red-head bounded down the stairs to find her future groom.

-

Harry swept swiftly through the castle, sweat covering his brow as he continued his wild pursuit for the meeting place Dumbledore had provided. It seemed as though he had never before endured so many staircases shuffling at so many inopportune intervals. He felt as though he had gone in circles time and time again, feeling the true essence of what he was about to partake in. If the castle was this protective of its location, it was surely top secret in every sense of the phrase.

_You will quickly find a mahogany door donned with a silver-plated eagle's head_, he recalled Dumbledore saying. He was vaguely certain that he had seen the room before, though it seemed so far away, buried deep in his memories as another forgotten piece of information that had been quite useless at its time of discovery.

_When you see the portrait of Salazar Slytherin, make a harsh right—that will place you dangerously near to your destination…_

There he was: the most controversial founder of Hogwarts in all his glory, his emerald robes flowing royally and victoriously past his feet, curling around his ankles in elegance. The life-like figure raised an eyebrow at Harry's passing, watching suspiciously as the boy headed for the instructed location. Harry was certain he heard the word 'Gryffindor' paired with a derogatory slur, but chose to pay it no mind. He rounded his sharp right as he was told.

_Swoosh._ It was as though each and every one of Harry's internal organs had been swept upward into a spiral, choosing to land conclusively in improper positions—he felt his heart beating in his stomach and his stomach turning inside his chest—suddenly aware of his bladder, he felt the urge to urinate in his shoulder, truly disturbed by this turn of events.

Speaking of turns…his head suddenly felt very heavy. It was then that he took a cautious look around, realizing that his feet were planted firmly on the ceiling as he stared at the dusty underside of a chandelier only a few mere meters in front of him. Looking up—or was it down?—He noticed the carpeting appeared to be clung to the ceiling. Only the portraits seemed to adapt to the situation, having all swiveled right-side up upon Harry's observation.

—_But be careful…the hallway will likely turn…_upside-down_, so to speak._

"So to _speak_?" Harry muttered in irritation, recalling the other half of the journey to the training room. Wracking his brain, he fought to remember the very last bit of information.

_If you tap your wand thrice on the center of the chandelier, a door will appear. In order to allow your entrance, you must speak the password ("feather quill") and press your hand upon the platform to ensure your identity._

Obediently, Harry took a couple hesitant steps towards the hanging crystalline structure. He felt his insides bouncing atypically within his skeleton, and he found himself quite ready to be set right once more. Quickly he tapped the center taper, three times as instructed, and watched intently as a wooden door materialized on the far wall. There it was—the silver eagle perched quite delicately upon the structure. Held in the eagle's beak was a thick piece of parchment, complete with a Hogwarts crest. It resembled an immensely official document, despite the ample blank space beneath the seal. Puzzled, he hastened. Quickly taking those last few distressful steps across the ceiling, he paused before the door, oddly flustered as he continued to hang upside-down, staring at the eagle. It was humorous, really—he would have laughed had he seen somebody else in the very same predicament. He was in no mood for jokes at the moment, however.

"Phoot yo phand uphon it."

"Pardon?" Harry breathed, taken aback by the eagle's sudden instruction. Having been holding the parchment in its mouth, its speech was rather hard to decipher.

Harry could not help but widen his eyes as the eagle released an audible sigh of frustration and repeated his first statement, hardly more coherent than the previous effort.

"May I?..." Harry began, but did not await a response. He took hold of the loose parchment and gently plucked it from the eagle's beak. The plated creature, this time, let out a sigh of relief, as though it had found the taste of paper rather unpleasant all these years.

"You must put your hand upon the parchment," it explained rationally, as though having recited the same instructions many times before. "And while your hand is in place, speak the password."

"O-oh," Harry stuttered, embarrassed by the eagle's tone of indication that Harry should have known what to do all on his own. "I…Sorry," he pre-empted as he slid the parchment back into the eagle's beak. The creature, again, released a groan of dejection. "Sorry," Harry repeated uncertainly as he spread his fingers and, palm-out, pressed his hand against the parchment. Hardly taking a moment to be stunned at the illusion of ink spreading from his thumb across the span to his pinky, he watched as his handprint was absorbed into the paper, reminded heavily of any text that was written upon Tom Riddle's journal so long ago. He couldn't help but smile weakly at the thought of saving his beloved from the journal's cruel fate. "Feather quill," he stated firmly, quite ready to be right-side up once more.

The pewter knob suddenly glowed a bright red hue, looking as though it would be dangerously hot to the touch. The eagle's previously silver eyes lit up scarlet, as well, as it spread its wings to full width and the door opened slowly, a bright light pouring into the dismal hallway. Shading his eyes from the illumination, Harry stepped through the doorway and, judging by his heart returning to its proper home behind his left breast, he instinctively was aware that he was back on the floor where he belonged.

Brushing off his robes as a final touch, he reached into his pocket for his wand and admired the hangings of the room. It was all white—much like a hospital of sorts…only cheerier. He felt as though he had stepped through the gates into immortality, for all stories described the afterlife as being bright beyond all measure. Even the curtains seemed to be made of clouds, wavering gently in the windless chamber.

There were several portraits and paintings hanging in all directions, as though confused between which way was up and which way was down. They seemed to be floating in place rather than mounted. Alarmed, he instinctively gripped his wand tightly as they began to shuffle around and switch places as if engaged in a game of musical chairs. Calming at the reminder of where he was, his grasp loosened significantly.

Magic would never cease to amaze him as long as he lived.

"It's about time, Potter." A cold voice cut the warmth straight in half as Harry's thoughts came plummeting back to reality. "Dumbledore told me nine sharp."

Harry turned upon his newfound and hesitant companion. There stood Draco Malfoy, his new robes elegantly reaching the floor in a perfect fit. His hair was as sleek as ever as though he had applied oil to his tresses to keep them in place. He tapped his foot impatiently, twirling his own wand idly between his fingers as though he had spent the last few hours perfecting the movement to be devoid of any fumbling whatsoever. His icy blue eyes were empty, as usual, as if a direct window into the place where his soul would be, if he possessed one.

Harry sighed heavily and combed his fingers quickly through his ebony hair. "You just jump right past the pleasantries, don't you, mate?"

Malfoy did not respond. Instead, he sauntered threateningly towards his fellow graduate, his dank eyes swiftly flickering up and down as he studied Harry's appearance distastefully. At last his wand came to a quick halt between his fingers and in one fluid motion was positioned for battle. And, of course, there it was—the indignant smirk. Malfoy's signature countenance that reminded Harry of his hesitance in the first place. A few measly words and actions of substantial body language and he was quite set, already, to turn and walk in the opposite direction. How could he have forgotten? He was well aware that a sneer was clearly present across his features as he studied his former classmate likewise. How stupid could he have been? How was this ever going to work without ending in bloodshed?

They rounded one another a few short times, as if in a boxing ring, before coming to a standstill, facing one another resentfully. The tension was so thick that Harry could never have cut it, not even with Godric Gryffindor's magnificent sword. The silence was swallowed into the black hole that resided between them, making for a well-defined barrier separating ideals. At last, Malfoy's mouth flickered.

"Let me make one thing clear, _Potter_," he spat, as if Harry's surname was the dirtiest word he had ever been forced to utter. "I'm not here to help you. I will not have you thinking that I agreed to this project to assist you in your heroic duties."

Harry briefly allowed his brow to lower in confusion before responding. "What's in it for you then?"

An emotion other than disgust seemed to pass fleetingly through Malfoy's features, though it was gone before Harry could question it against the ordinary. "That's none of your business," he barked, his cool collectiveness faltering for a moment. A brief second after his reply, he stood up straight once more and masked his face for a second time, hoping to compensate for his loss of composure. "You just better consider yourself damn well lucky that I signed on. It's nobody's fault but your own that you got tangled into yet another _tragic_ web. Without drama, there would be no Harry Potter."

Harry was clasping his wand so tightly that his knuckles had turned chalk white.

"It is also not my fault that your Muggle relatives went and got themselves killed. Stupid, really. But as long as you share certain genes and traits with them, I am unsurprised at their self-inflicted fate."

It was strange that Harry had never felt so apt to defend his aunt and uncle before. He wasn't sure if it was the recent occurrence, his heart-to-heart with Dudley over the matter, or simply because _Malfoy_ was the one saying it. In any case, livid as can be, he felt his blood boiling to dangerously high levels, ready to spill over.

"Let's just get to it then, shall we?" Harry requested through gritted teeth, though due to the firmness of his question it came out as more of a demand. He whipped his wand into place, unmistakably aimed towards Draco's heart, and paused. It was not until that final moment that it occurred to him.

He had no idea what they were to do.

Malfoy, as if reading his mind, snickered to himself. "Typical. Always ready to blast an eye out without any cause as to why." Despite his condescending statement, he set his wand at-the-ready as well. And there they stood—wands pointing at one another, chests heaving heavily from the adrenaline pumping through seething anger, and there was nothing to say.

And then, Harry laughed.

"What?" croaked Draco irritably. "What the bloody hell are you going on about?"

But he couldn't stop. He felt as though he was going insane. Nothing that had occurred within the past couple of days merited a chuckle whatsoever.

But, somehow, nothing could have been any funnier.

"Lunatic," muttered Malfoy, pocketing his wand. There was a distinct shade of scarlet rising in his cheeks, however, as he grew all-the-more nervous at Harry's sudden burst of instability. He looked around quickly, as if to assure that nobody had been behind him making crude hand gestures to send Harry into fits of giggles. His head jerked from side to side in paranoia, causing Harry to hold the stitch in his side tightly as he laughed even harder.

Voldemort was after him once more. He was planning on killing all those near and dear to Harry's heart. Harry's aunt and uncle had been brutally and savagely murdered at his hands. Fred and George had been roughed up. Ron and Hermione were stubborn bastards. He and Dudley had conducted the Fidelius Charm in secret. His betrothed had not yet inquired as to where he had been running off to. And to top it off, he was sentenced to intense training with his childhood enemy—and he hadn't the faintest idea of where to start. He had been so concerned with getting to the training location that it had not even occurred to him what was to be done. Was this another of Dumbledore's clever rouses? Were they supposed to figure out on their own what was to be done? Did it involve some sort of tacky arrangement where they would finally have to work together as a team to bring down a common enemy?

Who _wouldn't_ find it funny?

So there he stood—tears pouring down his cheeks.

The only thing was that now he was uncertain as to whether he was laughing or crying.

-

There was nothing quite as therapeutic as walking around one's own backyard barefoot, allowing the frequently abused pores on the cracked heels of the feet to soak in the early morning dew.

Ron Weasley required a breath of fresh air desperately. He was silently grateful for Ginny's leniency regarding the outdoors in respect to her brilliant spell. He was unsure of what he would have to do had he remained cooped up in that living room for a mere moment more.

He paced the cool grass worriedly, his mind wandering to the several possible locations of just how his best friend was feeling. Though he should have been able to gather some composure from Harry's confident exit early that morning, he was somehow still at a loss for satisfaction. He would not be able to sufficiently rest until he was supplied with the full story—details upon details—to curb his reservations on the matter.

And what was even worse was that this was perhaps one of the very first times that Harry had insisted to bear his burden alone. This thought caused Ron to shudder from head to toe. Though a clumsy sidekick he may have been, he felt at a loss to be stripped of his duties. He was aware that this was the last straw that broke the camel's back for Harry and he was ready to go full-force into whatever he must, but Ron still felt useless wandering around the backyard while his companion searched for the most effective way to bring down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

"Ron?" a voice called quietly, as though unwilling to disturb nature in its most untainted state. He dejectedly turned his head to see Hermione quickly approaching, outdoor robes in hand. She seemed out of breath, as though having run a relay race. "You—You really mustn't—It's far too chilly this morning—I—Here," she finished pathetically, handing his robes over to him. Truth be told, it was merely an excuse to get her in his presence. And somewhere deep down, he knew it as well. He smiled meekly and took them in hand.

"Thank you," he said in undertones, swinging the robe around his shoulders and into place. Hermione cleared her throat and stared at her feet. Any words that could have been said regarding Harry's departure had no need to be spoken allowed—both were well-aware of the other's thoughts and feelings and it seemed a waste of breath to reiterate a silent understanding.

She continued to stare at a single blade of grass emerging from the earth, as if attempting to formulate a conversation-starter. Then it seemed to dawn on her as she lifted her head once more.

"Are you hungry? We're the only ones awake yet and I'm sure you're hungry."

"No thank you," he mumbled, though secretly grateful for the offer. "I've not quite gotten my appetite back."

"Oh," she stated softly as they lapsed into silence again. It was funny, truly, that as long as they had been friends they had never had to search for something to talk about. It was honestly one of the only times they had ever stood this awkwardly, doing anything to avoid the other's gaze. Maybe it was due to the disappointingly-brief kiss the night before, or the way that she had fallen asleep in his arms. In any case, they were both at a loss for words.

"Well…Perhaps you would like me to draw a bath?" she offered, then blushed deeply at the sounds of her inquiry and hastily added, "For _you._"

Ron could not help but deliver a wicked smile at the sounds of the first statement, causing Hermione to flush a more vibrant shade of red. "You know what I meant," she said indignantly, batting his shoulder as if to wipe the smirk from his face. "You've had a rough night and I only thought…Well…" The scarlet was diminishing and her countenance returned to the utmost seriousness. "I was hoping there was something I could do."

She was a wonderful person. She truly was. Ron looked upon her appreciatively, making a note to memorize the twinkle of the sun in her hazel eyes and the manner in which she nervously played with her hair. She bit her lip uncertainly, as if it were enough to hold in the tears that he knew were threatening to haunt her once more. She experienced a sharp intake of breath and then shakily exhaled, beginning to twirl a curl on her index finger more fervently as if it were an efficient distraction.

Ron felt that she never looked so beautiful in all their years together. He wanted nothing more than to tell her that. Than to kiss her with a red-hot fiery passion to rival his own hair—to hold her in his arms tightly, unwilling to let go—unwilling to release her to a world that would only continue to disappoint her.

"You _can_ do something for me," he admitted softly, a glimmer of a smile crossing his features as she slowly raised her gaze back to his.

"What?" she asked breathlessly, realizing for the first time how close their faces had been the entire time. "What can I do?"

"Just be with me," he whispered, circling his arms around her waist and pulling her close.

"I can do that," she murmured lovingly with a quick nod of her head, burying her nose securely into his chest and releasing a sigh of content. "I can surely do that."

-

It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. There he stood idly in a graveyard, sweating in places he was never aware could emit perspiration. His knees were shaking and his fists were tightened in tight balls at either side of his waist. His wand was tucked securely in his right, though he felt pained to know that he would likely not be needing it. Each breath he took was accompanied by the stale odor of rotting corpses and untimely death.

The Dark Lord stood before him, an air of evil and foreboding that could never be replicated without his presence. His ten-foot proximity was enough to dismiss any disdain that had ever been elicited by the Dementors. There was something about staring death in the eye that eliminated any existing happy thoughts before they could even be created.

And then he smiled. A haunting smile that would certainly reappear in nightmares to come. He leveled his wand expertly and cried, "_Avada Kedavra_!"

And then the forgotten party on the opposite side of the gravestone dropped dead.

"Fred. Fred? Fred!"

The Weasley twin shot up in a cold sweat, sucking in the deepest breaths he could simply to appreciate his ability to utilize his lungs. He did a quick feel-over, patting his shoulders, chest, and legs to reassure that everything was where he left it. Touching his face he realized tears were pouring in rivulets down his cheeks, soaking into his blue cotton night shirt.

_It was only a dream…it was only a dream._

"Fred?" Angelina whispered softly, crawling over to him and wiping a lock of hair away from his sweaty brow. Had it been any normal morning he would have delighted in her apparel of a simple silk-thin night dress.

But it was not any other morning. And that was certainly not any other nightmare.

"What is it, darling? What did you dream?"

"It wasn't a dream," Fred breathed, betraying his own rationalizations. He swallowed hard and played the nightmare over multiple times in his head until the details began slowly trickling away, much like trying to hold water in his hands.

"Of course it was, don't be silly," Angelina reasoned, giving his shoulder a quick rub. "What was so bad about it?"

"It wasn't a dream," Fred protested urgently, jerking his shoulder away from her touch. Her comforting smile faltered slightly, a concern flashing in her dark chocolate eyes. "It—it was the future. I was in a graveyard, and…and…" He choked back a sob in order to reveal the last crucial detail. "George was there with me…and we were trying to fight the Dark Lord…and…_he was murdered_."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	12. Progression And Regression

_**A/N: **__**Deathly Hallows**__ is the greatest creation ever. _

_This fan fiction was started in 2002, and therefore __**Books 5, 6, and 7**__ are to be disregarded._

_I own nothing and nobody. I simply love them and mold them to my own works._

-

_**Chapter Twelve: Progression And Regression**_

-

Diagon Alley felt particularly crowded today, likely due to the favorable weather. Luckily, the place that Hermione and Ginny had needed to visit was not too busy considering the fact that the new school year would not start for another few months.

Madame Malkin's was just as warm and homey as it had always been. When Ginny had stated that this would be their point of venture, Hermione had been admittedly confused. Until being escorted to the back room of the shop, she had never known that Madam Malkin also sold elegant gowns. The other half of the store was practically dedicated to fancy parties and weddings.

Hermione admired a strapless lilac-colored gown donned by the front-display dummy. To illustrate the true qualities of the fabric, the dummy would pause in elaborate poses. This was one of the phenomena of the wizarding world that Hermione felt she may never get used to: moving displays.

The dress really was lovely, though. Its bodice was ornately decorated with tiny gems, causing it to sparkle when caught by the light. The skirt came to the floor, ample amounts of fabric making a train, as any proper ball gown should have. There was an intricate design in the back, made up of ribbons crisscrossing in all directions.

She tried to picture the dress on herself rather than the faceless pink mannequin. Concentrating, she could imagine her bushy hair being tamed into an elegant up-do, as she had done for the Yule Ball. And the absence of straps would accentuate the shape of her shoulders, which she quite liked. She even felt herself blush a little as she envisioned Ron's expression when seeing her enter the room in it. He would most certainly be unable to take his eyes off of her. It was the perfect dress, indeed.

Ron. He had been confusing her for the past couple of weeks. Not only that, but they had been so caught up in Harry's peril that they had not even been able to discuss what had happened. Not that Harry's situation deserved less credit—only it had been stressful to them both. She longed to be held in his arms as a result of an honest, open relationship…Not a byproduct of frightening circumstance.

Ginny, meanwhile, was taking animatedly with Madame Malkin about when her pre-ordered, custom-made wedding dress would be arriving. From the sounds of it, not long. Hermione smiled sadly to herself. She wished so deeply that she could tell Ginny about everything that had happened lately. She wished that there were more opportunities to let her friend know that her fiancée may be in grave danger—that perhaps the wedding should be held off—at least until everybody was safe…

But somehow, she knew that Ginny had the knowledge of all this in her heart; what could be done? What could Ginny do to stop anything? By becoming involved in the situation, she would only be worrying herself more. It was almost better to just continue on with her everyday life, her current plans, and allow fate to control the rest. There was no use in letting the fear manipulate her—it was in those ways that Voldemort was already winning.

Or perhaps Ginny was honestly none-the-wiser. But Hermione had a keen idea that the former was the truth.

"Find anything to your liking?" Ginny inquired brightly, sweeping over to Hermione as Madam Malkin retreated, magicking some new stock onto various shelves.

Hermione hesitated for a second, afraid that if she reacted too anxiously to the question that Ginny may realize precisely _**why**_ she had the particular dress in mind.

"This…This one's quite nice," Hermione said quietly, gesturing to the lilac gown before her. She watched Ginny's expression carefully. Though her disappointment would be monumental, Hermione knew that the bride was the master of all decision-making. If the dress did not fit Ginny's ideal image of her ceremony, then they would continue to browse.

It really did seem to take forever for her mind to be made up, though. She cocked her head at the dress, running the sheer top layer between her forefinger and thumb. All the while the mannequin stood still, patiently allowing her clothing to be studied; it surely happened all the time. She analyzed the transition from lavender to deep violet in the length between the waistline and the train. It was as though Ginny was preparing to purchase the dress she'd be buried in—She took her sweet time debating.

"It _**is**_ lovely…" she murmured softly, admiring the dress from behind this time. Hermione felt her heart jump into her throat. She could picture it now—the reception ceremony, herself and Ron swaying to a soft tune by Celestina Warbeck…

Ginny reached around back for the price tag. Hermione felt her heart sink back into its original place. Price was most certainly an issue for Ginny.

"Sixty-five galleons?" Ginny practically shrieked, causing the mannequin to jump nearly three feet in the air. "Oh no, Hermione, that's outrageously expensive. I won't allow you to spend that much. There are plenty of other equally nice dresses on the other wall. In fact, that darling dandelion-colored one looks breath-taking. Let's go see how much it is."

Ginny looked outstandingly like her mother as she made this speech. And, childish though it may have seemed, Hermione did not care about money right now. She cared about having just that moment…an equal chance of feeling as beautiful and as admired as Ginny would feel in her wedding gown.

"I can afford it," she blurted, perhaps too harshly.

Ginny turned to look at her, confusion and fascination combined in her face. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Hermione said hopefully, already beginning to search for her size on the rack. "My parents threw me a party when I graduated Hogwarts, you see, and tons of relatives came and gave me loads of money. I exchanged a bunch of it for wizarding currency. Most is in my vault at Gringotts, but I carry a great deal with me as well." She at last found the correct fit and extracted it from the display, holding her breath as she awaited Ginny's response.

"Well…It _**is**_ a marvelous color…" Ginny began uncertainly. Then, with growing smile, the deal was sealed; she touched Hermione's arm. "It will look spectacular on you! Go try it on for size, see if it fits correctly."

Hermione's heart came back to her throat as she dashed across the store to the fitting room. After some confusion with the zipper and the multitude of crossing ribbons in the back, she admired her reflection in the mirror. Both were silent for a moment—Ginny began to play with Hermione's hair in a sisterly fashion, smiling appreciatively.

"You look stunning. Truly."

"You think so?" Hermione asked honestly, turning a circle or two to examine the full effect.

"Yes. So there you are, the deciding vote—the remaining bridesmaids will be wearing lavender." She smiled excitedly, obviously in great anticipation for the upcoming event. She began to exit the changing room to give Hermione her privacy, but as a last thought, poked her head back through the curtain. "Oh, and if you're wondering…He told me once that you look nice in purple."

She was gone before Hermione even had the chance to register her words. She studied herself in the mirror for a moment more. Yes. Yes, she had been right. It was certainly the perfect dress. She could hardly wait to see his face.

She had even forgotten, for a moment, about Voldemort.

-

The silence had settled. All words that could be said had been. Multiple hexes, jinxes, and curses later, and the discovery that the door would open for nothing (Harry knew that there would be some hidden purpose to this detainment later,) it came down to this: Harry sat at one end of the training room, arms folded in defeat, and Malfoy at the other end, lying on his backside, casting small green sparks into the air with his wand, humming some beastly tune to himself.

"Haven't you done that long enough?" Harry demanded impatiently. "Look, to be perfectly honest, you're not that great a singer. And secondly, those sparks are—are—well, they're damn annoying."

Malfoy chuckled to himself, though did not cease to create his tiny fireworks. "Drives you bonkers, doesn't it _**Potter**_? Not being able to control every little thing. Should get used to it—He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named won't let you call the shots, you know."

Just when Harry thought everything had been said, he was proven wrong.

"Listen here, you," he hissed, flicking his wand at Draco's and causing it to fly from his grasp. Slowly, with a dangerous demeanor, Draco came to a sitting position, glaring from across the room. "This may be some game to you or—or some chance of being a hero, or of impressing Pansy Parkinson, or challenging my fame, or whatever…But it's real. A real threat. And the more time I spend with you, the more I regret ever signing on. You're a great git and you'll never take this seriously. I'm not sure why I even trusted Dumbledore's idea." He paused, drinking in Draco's expression. To his alarm, he remained silent; his glare still fired daggers in Harry's direction, but Harry took it as a good sign that he had not yet interrupted, so he cleared his throat. "It's happening you know. He isn't just some figment of my imagination, or a ghost from the past. Voldemort—"

"Don't say his name, Potter!" Malfoy spat at last, holding out his hand, palm-down, and silently summoning his wand into his grasp. They sat in silence again for a moment before Harry dared to break it, trying to keep his voice as apathetically neutral as possible.

"How'd you do that?"

"Do what?" Malfoy snapped back, his eyes lingering elsewhere in the room.

"That wand summoning thing," Harry insisted impatiently, frustrated with Malfoy for not understanding a damn thing all morning.

"Trick my father taught me," Malfoy continued, his indifference rivaling Harry's as though they were in a competition for who could possibly care the least. "Rather like Apparating, I guess."

"As though you concentrate on where you want your wand to go rather than your body?" Harry asked, struggling to contain his fascination now.

Malfoy shrugged, sneering. Harry took it to mean a 'yes.' Silence settled once more.

Sometimes Harry hated himself for responding sympathetically to people who didn't deserve it; this moment was becoming one of them. He felt sorry for Malfoy, sometimes…He knew that Lucius was rarely around, prancing around for the Dark Lord…Narcissa was a bit of a nutter, herself, and Draco was their only offspring. His childhood couldn't have been pleasant. Probably not even acknowledgeable—His father had followed Voldemort since before Draco was born, and yet there was something holding Draco back. Something that had spoken to his conscience.

Something that _**made**_ him sign onto this project to help Harry.

He wasn't sure what it was—He wasn't even sure he wanted to know. All that he knew was that all of a sudden, he was aware of his miniscule appreciation for Draco Malfoy.

"I believe that's all for now," came an old voice from the doorway. Both Draco and Harry were on their feet in an instant in surprise, both wands at the ready, prepared for anything.

But it was only Dumbledore who stood there, a twinkle in his eye and a suspiciously confident smile across his lips.

"You've done very well for your first day together," he said admiringly as he gave his wand a tiny wave. In an instant, all three now stood in Dumbledore's office.

There simply was no knowing how. Harry took a deep breath, fighting to accept the fact that Dumbledore knew and possessed deep-seated secrets in magic abilities that Harry could never begin to understand or perform.

Looking around, he observed that nothing had changed in the old wizard's dwelling. Everything was in its rightful place, including the portraits, his Pensieve and loyal phoenix, Fawkes.

"What d'ya mean, we did well?" Draco asked bitterly, arms crossed in front of his chest. "We bloody argued for one hour, then sat around for another!"

"Ah—Was that all?" asked Dumbledore curiously, taking a seat at his desk and folding his hands together.

"Yes, that was all!" Draco insisted impatiently, obviously baffled by the fact that Dumbledore seemed to be finding progress where none existed. "The bastard nearly broke my nose when he put the body bind jinx on me and I fell on my face…Fortunate thing that Potter's so quick to reverse an incantation out of guilt…"

This comment seized Harry by the shoulders and threw him back into the game. "Hey," he cut in, pointing a threatening finger into Malfoy's chest. Just when he thought that Malfoy may be a bit misunderstood…"I lifted that curse because unlike some, I don't intend physical harm when I duel. Shouldn't complain."

"Don't intend physical harm?" Malfoy snarled, his face so close to Harry's in challenge that the latter could feel flecks of spit flying from his mouth. "I'm sure You-Know-Who will think of that as fair ground rules, yeah? Dueling like school children, indeed…He'll understand perfectly. In fact, he might even feel a slight bit bad for almost killing you three or four times. That falls under the 'physical pain' category. But yeah, you'll talk some sense into him, you will."

"Sir," said Harry in finality, whirling away from Draco and toward Dumbledore. In desperate plea, he leaned forward, hands on the desk, to look the Hogwarts Headmaster straight in the eye. "I can't do this, Sir. It's impossible. He's never going to change."

"Not like it's a picnic for me either, Potter, but I was under the impression that this is the only way to win," Malfoy drawled, retracting the tiniest bit of hostility from his voice, almost as if to return to a state of apathy.

"I'm sure there's something else," Harry insisted, probing Dumbledore's eyes. "Isn't there, Professor? There's another way, surely…Something easier."

It was a moment before Dumbledore unfolded his hands to respond, his smile still present.

"Since when has there been anything _**easy**_ about this war, Harry?"

Harry felt bad immediately for saying it. It wasn't how it was meant to come out—It just had. The last thing he wanted was for Dumbledore to think badly of him, to be under the impression that Harry was only in it for himself and unwilling to work hard.

"Professor Dumbledore…I only meant…Well…He's not willing to work. All he does is insult me."

"Whine some more, Potter, it might just win you another trophy," Malfoy jeered. Harry chose to ignore him, instead looking at Dumbledore more intently.

"Please, Sir…Find another way…"

"I'm afraid it's too late," Dumbledore responded at last, a mixture of amusement and relief in his voice.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked fearfully, uncrossing his arms and matching Harry's stance at the front of the desk. "It can't be too late. It's only been a day. We don't really have to keep doing this, do we?"

"I thought you said it was the only way to win," Harry muttered in his direction, still concentrating solely on Dumbledore. "You want out of this just as badly as I do."

"Of course I bloody want out of it, I was just looking to piss you off," Draco rationalized, also not meeting Harry's eyes to say it.

"The contract has been signed by the both of you. It cannot be broken until it has been followed through with."

"How would it know?" Draco challenged smugly. "It's just a piece of parchment."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes brightened considerably as he leaned back in his chair. "Just a piece of parchment, Mr. Malfoy? I'm afraid not. Your signatures on that paper have released a deep branch of magic that cannot be tricked or fooled."

"What happens if I try to trick it?" Malfoy asked desperately, frantically looking for a hole to crawl out of. "Not like it would kill me or anything."

"No, no…Not kill," Dumbledore agreed cryptically. "There are other ways to be convincing."

Draco now looked petrified, as though he had seen a basilisk in a mirror. Harry took in everything Dumbledore had said, trying to sort the information into a logical fashion.

"We've got to keep going…Haven't we?" he asked quietly. Dumbledore merely gave a curt nod.

"It will take time. I don't beg to differ with that view of yours, Harry…It will certainly take work. But progress is progress, and it has already been made. You have come a long way in your training today."

Draco released a low grunting noise; Harry was sure that he was still trying to find the progress in all of this.

"And because of such, the connection has begun."

"Connection? What connection?" Harry asked, morbidly fascinated.

"You shall see soon enough. There will be ways of knowing when one of you needs the other."

Both looked horrified at the idea of being on call for the person beside him, but neither protested. Dumbledore took this to be the final arrangement and stood, politely sweeping his hand toward the door.

"That's all for today. I shall see you both tomorrow at the same time."

Both Draco and Harry stood there for a moment, staring at Dumbledore as if seeing him for the first time. Then, both with reluctance, they began to exit the office, passing the gargoyle on their way down the staircase.

"You heard him, Potter," Draco began bitterly, looking at Harry for the first time in several minutes. "Same time tomorrow. Don't be late this time."

And with an arrogant swish of his robes, Draco retreated.

-

"Here darling," Angelina pleaded, levitating a coffee cup over to Fred at the kitchen table. Luckily the morning had been relatively quiet, sufficiently enough for the couple to talk in peace. Most were at work, Mrs. Weasley was running errands for the wedding, Ron, George, and Alicia still slept, and Hermione and Ginny were dress shopping.

She only wished she could get a bit more of an explanation out of him.

"I don't need any more," Fred insisted, pushing away the floating cup, spilling a bit in the process. Angelina sighed and let it land on the counter. She studied his face carefully, trying to understand what he was feeling. His eyes were swollen and red, as though he had been crying for days and his face was ghostly white, even washing out his multitude of freckles. His entire body was shaking fervently even though it was quite warm outside.

"Tell me again," Angelina asked softly. "What did you see?"

"I've said it a thousand times," Fred muttered impatiently. "It's the same every time, Ange. The story won't change."

There was an awkward pause between the couple, in which she began to stroke his shoulder.

"What can I do?" she asked quietly.

"Nothing," Fred offered. "Absolutely nothing. It can't be helped at all."

"There must be something—" Angelina began desperately.

"Not that I'm yet aware of," Fred snapped in frustration. He knew, even as he spoke, that he was acting unlike himself. This vision had riled so many things in his blood that he could not even focus. It was as though he were seeing red and all he wanted was to be left alone—though at the same time, he was terrified of solitude. Everything was an inner debate.

If Angelina was offended by his attitude, she showed no sign of it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that this is why he loved her so much: she knew what questions to ask and which ones to avoid; she knew what to disregard and what to pay attention to.

Jovial laughter came floating from the staircase. Both Fred and Angelina looked up, as if two deer caught in headlights, as George and Alicia emerged onto the bottom step. They had obviously been teasing one another in the stairwell, as George now tickled her in the doorway.

"George! Stop!" she pleaded through her laughter. "George! Please!" It wasn't until then that she noticed the presence of the others, seated at the table, and good-naturedly slapped George's hand away. "Good morning," she greeted.

Angelina merely smiled forcedly in response. Fred said nothing.

"Sleep well?" questioned George, taking a seat at the table and reaching for the untouched toast Angelina had made for Fred. Before anybody could respond, however, he had changed the subject. "What's gotten into you?" he inquired through a mouthful of bread, playfully ruffling the top of his twin's hair.

Fred merely recoiled in reply. George looked questioningly at Angelina, who shrugged, hesitantly beginning to softly say, "He had a dream that—"

"It wasn't a dream!" exploded Fred, slamming a fist down onto the table so hard that the plate of toast actually moved with a noisy clatter. The light bulbs above the table began flickering violently.

"Fred," George began seriously, probing his brother's eyes. "What is it, mate?"

"It's all happening," Fred cried miserably, pulling at the roots of his hair, hardly noticing that Ginny and Hermione had entered the room, arms full of boxes and bags; Ron had also descended the staircase, scratching his head and yawning. "He really is back. He really is going to come after us."

"Bloody nonsense," George reprimanded nervously, patting the top of Fred's hand. "That's—that's ridiculous. Right, Ron?" he asked pointedly, jerking his head towards Ginny, whose face had gone ashen white.

Ron could only sputter a couple indistinct syllables in reply.

"It's done, George; it can't be hidden from her any longer," Fred shouted, pointing frantically at Ginny. "She ought to know what she's about to walk into with this marriage."

"Fred, really, maybe—" Hermione began.

"No! I'm through with lying to everybody." Fred was standing now, his entire body shuddering and his face a violent red. He shoved his fists into both eyes, as if to push the images back out of his brain. "Something happened that night I battled with him. Something I can't explain. But I…I reckon I'm losing my mind."

"Oh, Fred," Hermione started once more, approaching him hurriedly. "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry for everything. You were so brave, and we never thought that…Oh, Fred…I never should have suggested it."

"No. You bloody shouldn't have. You're absolutely right," Fred agreed coldly, refusing to meet Hermione's eyes. "It was a stupid idea and I'm certainly paying for it now."

Hermione's bottom lip quivered slightly before she turned quickly on her heel and slammed through the back door. Everybody was silent for a moment, staring at Fred, who looked as though he would burst into tears as he collapsed back into his seat.

"I don't know what's happening to me," he murmured softly, staring at his hands as though he had just slapped her.

Ron chanced a glance at Ginny, who had dropped all of the bags to her feet and was holding her face in horror. She, too, sprinted away, up the stairs, and the slamming of her bedroom door resounded throughout the entire Burrow.

George had come to Fred's aid, wordlessly supporting his weight and helping him to the stairs, no doubt to lie him down and have a heart-to-heart. Alicia sat next to Angelina at the table, who had just begun to sob. Ron took this as his cue to leave and quietly exited through the back door in pursuit of Hermione. He knew she couldn't have gotten far, for Ginny's enchantment would never allow it. As he crossed the threshold, he noticed the significant change in the weather—it was cloudy now and a chill had fallen on the wind that swept through the trees.

It didn't take him long to find her, sitting on the bench where they had spent so much time recently. She looked so tired and alone. Tears poured silently down her face, her eyes puffy. She hugged her knees to her chest protectively, as if it would prevent further hurt from reaching her heart. Unwillingly, Ron felt a stinging sensation in the corners of his eyes, signaling the production of his own tears. He wasn't sure he had ever seen her look so scared, so vulnerable.

She looked up to meet his gaze, and an unspoken understanding was hashed out between them. They stared for some time without speaking, until Ron came to sit next to her. It had started to sprinkle mildly, tiny raindrops mingling with Hermione's tears. A small bead of water cascaded across her cheekbone, its source a private mystery to Ron, whether it had come from her eyes or from the sky.

He placed a hand on her jawbone, wiping away the phantom droplet with his thumb. Even once he had dried it away, he continued to gently run his thumb back and forth across her cheek. Her eyes flickered shut as she soaked in the feeling of his touch, raising a hand to intertwine her fingers with his own, holding his palm against her face. When she decided to meet his gaze once again, she realized how close he was. Her heart began to beat wildly in her chest as she vowed to memorize his expression. She was noticing the flecks of dark blue in his light eyes, giving the illusion of looking far out to sea. A raindrop was rolling down the bridge of his nose to the very tip, where it hung for a mere moment before relinquishing its hold and splattering quietly on his forearm.

"Don't," he whispered simply. Hermione did not have sufficient time to analyze this statement, for his lips had smashed upon hers before the word had even been completely finished. She could feel him kissing her with all of his might, his other arm curling around the small of her back, holding her close to him as if afraid she would run off. She brought her hands to his face, memorizing his features with her fingertips, almost swearing she felt wetness on his cheeks that the rain could not account for. It was everything she had waited for and more, feeling every ounce of his emotions pouring through that kiss and fighting to return the same fervor.

At last it ended, and both continued to look upon the other, mixture of confusion and adoration in both of their faces. She felt so torn. This felt so right, and yet…With everything had only just transpired, it felt inappropriate. She breathed heavily, her hands placed on his shoulders, before diverting her gaze and pushing him away gently.

"I can't," she admitted, turning forward once more and examining her hands in her lap. "I'm sorry."

He didn't respond for a moment. The only sound was the symphony of increasing rainfall upon the grass and surrounding trees.

"I should have known," he murmured, standing and facing away from her. She exhaled shakily, running her shuddering hands through her wet tresses. His kiss had weakened her entire body.

"It's not what you think," she stated plainly.

"No?" Ron demanded, turning to face her, both arms crossed over his chest. "So it's not Viktor, then?"

The immeasurable pleasure that had welled up inside Hermione's heart suddenly deflated like a popped balloon. "Not everything is about Viktor, Ronald."

"No, just most things," he countered bitterly.

Her nostrils flared slightly as she took a deep breath to keep herself from punching that stupid look right off his face. "It's not about him," she said through gritted teeth, standing to meet his eyes. "It's about this war, and Harry, and not having any distractions."

"How is it a distraction?" Ron asked seriously, the pain evident in his voice. Hermione even swore she heard it crack slightly under the emotional pressure. He was pressing hard on his temples with both palms. "Isn't this the sort of thing we're fighting for? Isn't it a reminder of what everything really comes down to?"

"No. I mean yes. I mean…I don't know," she responded pathetically. It had begun to pour all around them, though she hardly noticed the saturation of her clothing. She searched desperately for something to say, something to bring everything into perspective. "It's only…Ron…We haven't spoken for three years. I've been dedicating every piece of my soul to teaching at Hogwarts, but I can't pretend that I haven't waited by the window on some nights, hoping for Pigwidgeon to fly in with a letter of apology—"

"Me? The one who owes the apology?" Ron scoffed indignantly, any trace of hurt now masked by anger. He pointed a rigid finger in her direction. "If anybody should be apologizing, it's you. You're the one that didn't give a rat's ass about my acceptance to Gringotts. You were too busy to even attend the banquet with me because you were so involved with consulting _**Viktor **_about your training together."

Hermione paused, her previous words caught in her throat like a dam. Her heart ached slightly as she realized she had been right previously—the red rims around his eyes indicated that the wetness surrounding had indeed not been a product of precipitation. It was hard to tell whether he was still crying, however, as the rain poured from his sopping hair to all directions of his face. "I…I didn't know you wanted me at the banquet with you," she said quietly. "If I had known…"

"You _**didn't**_ know though, did you?" he demanded sulkily, gesticulating furiously as he spoke, stammering on his words. "You didn't know because you were too busy thinking about yourself. You have to understand, Hermione, that most things have always been about either you or Harry. That was perhaps the one time that I had the floor and you _**pissed all over it.**_"

The intensity with which he said this acted as a knife plunged deep into Hermione's heart. She could not even think of what to say.

"Ron, I didn't mean—"

"Forget it. Forget all of this," Ron declared, ripping at the wrist band that controlled Ginny's enchantment. Hermione saw the muscles in his arm flex as he pulled with all his might. "Damn it!"

"Ron—"

"Sod off, Hermione." The anguish in his voice had returned in this conclusive statement as he took off, full stride, back to The Burrow.

Thunder rumbled quietly in the distance, breaking the new silence that had settled. Hermione sat down hard on the bench, breathing heavily, unable to discern what had just happened.

The rain fell so hard now that Hermione could not even see in front of her own face. The lightning that continued to precede the crescendo of thunder presented her with a sense of unsurpassed foreboding, causing a shiver to rake up and down her spine.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


End file.
